


My Lovely Doll

by Caffiend



Category: British Actor RPF, Crimson Peak (2015) RPF, High-Rise (2015) RPF, Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial, The Night Manager (TV) RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arms trading, Arson, BDSM, Bad Parenting, Ballet, Benenden, Betrayal, Blood Play, Bondage and Discipline, Cambridge, Christmas ties, Comfort, Daddy Kink, Dom Tom, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Higher Education, Jaguar villains, Jaguars, Love, Martial Arts, Masturbation, Multilingual, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Murder, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Orgasm Denial, Ownership, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Protective Tom, Rope Suspension, Rough Sex, Self Defense, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Spanking, Taking Virginity, Tom Hardy villain, Tom Hiddleston hero, Torture, Villain Tom, Violence, bondage club, bought and sold, breast kink, british aristocracy, british villains, carmina burnana, hostages, international criminal activity, submission testing, switchblades, testing a sub, theraputic spanking, tiger sex, villain Marc Strong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 38
Words: 125,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend
Summary: Just as Thomas always got what he wanted, the vision of the girl before him was just what he’d been looking for. Even if she was only 14. Even if it meant waiting until she was 18 to buy her from her parents. Because Isobel was perfect. His lovely doll.





	1. "I Hope Your Birthday Wish Comes True!"

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah...it's dark. Jaguar Villain Thomas isn't a nice person. But I've been kicking around this idea for a while and wanted to see how it looked written down. Thank you as always for reading! Suggestions always welcomed.

It was one of those perfect English afternoons- not too hot, a vivid blue sky and a carpet of green dotted with stately rose gardens flowing to the horizon. But Thomas was bored. And a bored Thomas was never a good thing. The party buzzed on around him, the polite laughter and indulgent chuckles of men and women with far too much money and no shame about spending it. So, the white linen tables bulged with lobster flown in from Maine, and exquisite caviar brought directly from St. Petersburg, Russia. A steady stream of expensively dressed people stopped to congratulate him, fawning over his accomplishments, his rise in the company, his Jaguar. While he nodded politely and vaguely pretended to listen, his cobalt blue eyes scanned the partygoers, looking for something or someone new to amuse him.

And there she was.

Just as Thomas always got what he wanted, the vision of the girl before him was just what he’d been looking for. Wearing a pretty white lace dress, with a long flow of hair from under her pale green hat, the girl was perfect. Abandoning the woman speaking to him in mid-breath, he made his way through the crowd to her, like a shark sailing through a school of fish too small to bother with.

“Clotilde Soupert,” said a deep voice, just over Isobel’s shoulder.

Spinning in surprise, she ended nearly chest to chest with a ridiculously tall man. Holding on to her hat as she leaned back to look at him, Isobel smiled nervously. “I beg your pardon?”

“The rose,” the man said, gesturing with the hand holding his drink. “It’s a rare strain from Provence.”

“Oh,” Isobel smiled, flushing a little. She wasn’t used to adults speaking to her, unless one of her parent’s exceptionally creepy friends tried to flirt with her. But this tall man didn’t give off that vibe, even though he was looking her over in a fairly thorough manner. “I’ve the seen the lavender fields in Provence, like an ocean of purple- so beautiful!” She offered, “I always imagined being able to dive into them and swim through a sea of blossoms-” Isobel stopped short, flushing again, “I’m prattling, aren’t I?”

The tall man threw back his head and laughed, seeming genuinely entertained by her confession. “No, I think it’s a very compelling image.” Holding out one big hand, he bent his dark head. “Thomas Williams. And, you are?”

Gingerly taking his hand, she answered, “Isobel, Isobel Cameron. My mother was dead set on a good Scottish name, so I’m very grateful she didn’t go with her second choice, which was Morag, you can imagine my relief- oh, I’m doing it _again_.”

The tall man was laughing again, but it was kind, not as if he was mocking her. And her hand was still being swallowed up in his big, warm one. Giving it a last squeeze, Thomas freed her hand, giving Isobel his most winning, reassuring smile. It was the smile he often used just before he murdered someone, because he enjoyed the look of shock as they died. But in this case, he turned on his potent charm to reassure her. “Then I am very happy you were not named Morag as well. Did you go to France as a graduation gift?”

“Oh, no.” Isobel said, “I’m just starting at Benenden this year. Four more to go, I’m afraid.”

Thomas gritted his teeth. A fourteen year old? Bloody hell, the girl looked to be 18 at least! “Ah,” he nodded, “you look quite a bit older, I think.”

“It’s the height,” she smiled, “I have my father’s lanky genes, much like you have yours, I suppose.”

“Lanky?” Thomas chuckled, “An apt description.” Really, the girl was exquisite. Waist-length brunette hair, tall and slim, a sweet, pink mouth and those eyes- eyes to drown in, pale green, ringed in charcoal. Eyes that were currently widening in apprehension as she looked over his shoulder.

“Isobel! Where have you been? I told you to not go wandering off-” the woman’s angry tone instantly dripped with sweetness when she recognized the man. “Thomas!” She cooed, thrusting out a manicured hand, “Bridget Cameron, I’m Alistair’s wife? Happy Birthday, you’ve accomplished so much to have only turned 30.” Isobel’s gaze was fixed on her mother’s hand, still clutching the unresponsive one of the guest of honor.

Smoothly removing his hand, Thomas nodded politely. “Of course. I just had the pleasure of meeting your lovely daughter.” He turned back to the girl, smiling in a reassuring fashion. “We were just discussing her entry into Benenden, that’s quite an impressive feat- their academics are said to be so rigorous.”

“Princess Anne studied there,” bragged Bridget, “and it’s an all-girl’s school, of course. Too many distractions for young girls, and we intend that Isobel focus on her education.” Her eyes were hard when she addressed the girl, “Isn’t that right, dear?”

Reluctantly nodding, Isobel pasted on a smile. “I’d been accepted into Malvern College as well, they have such a good dance program-”

“-but dance is a hobby, darling, not a career.” Interrupted Bridget.”Now, we’ve taken too much of Mr. Williams’ time, so say goodbye so he can focus on his guests.”

Thomas held out his hand again, smiling down into Isobel’s lovely face. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Isobel. We’ll see each other again soon, I’m sure.”

Knowing the chances of her parents allowing her to come to another corporate party were slim to none, the girl looked a bit confused before her lips curved into a grin and she pressed her cool fingers into his. “A very Happy Birthday, Mr. Will-”

“Ah, ah!” He interrupted, “Just Thomas, please.”

Laughing a little as he easily ended the uncomfortable moment, Isobel nodded obediently. “Thomas, then. Happy Birthday…” as Bridget was pulling her away, the girl looked over her shoulder one last time. “I hope your birthday wish comes true!”

Taking another sip of his Jameson, Thomas grinned savagely. Oh, it would. There was always a way to make it happen.

The sun was setting as the guests began leaving the party, Thomas surrounded by two tipsy women, both attempting to charm him. “What do you want for your birthday, Thomas?” Giggled the blonde, leaning a little heavily into her friend. No matter how drunk you were, no one was stupid enough to breach Thomas Williams' personal space. “Maybe we could give you a little gift?”

Eyeing the two, he suddenly gave them a long, speculative smile. “Really, darling? And what were you proposing I...unwrap?”

The three were naked and the girls rolling around a huge bed inside the manor house shortly thereafter, Thomas lounging against the headboard as he idly rolled the ice cubes in his drink, watching them giggle as they kissed each other in a faux show of lesbian allure. Finally gesturing with two long fingers, he drew them up the bed, putting his hand in the blonde’s hair and directing her abruptly to his crotch. She promptly attacked his cock, cooing over its size and length, running her fist from root to tip, licking the bead of fluid there. Grunting from the pressure of her mouth, slick with lipstick, Thomas pushed the back of her head, urging her to slide his shaft deeper into her throat, smiling as she gagged against him. He guided the other girl’s tongue to his nipples and stared ahead over their bobbing heads, picturing the sweet face of Isobel- an older Isobel, how she would look at 18, then at 20, those round cheeks leaner, showing off her lovely cheekbones. How her big green eyes would widen as he directed her to his cock, sliding inside that pink mouth, hearing her hum contentedly against him. Groaning, Thomas flipped over the girl lapping at his chest, kicking her legs wider, running his thumb up and down her slit as he rolled on a condom. Wet already. A small grin curved one corner of his mouth before he thrust up into her abruptly, enjoying her startled shriek. “Is that a bit much for you, darling?” Thomas purred, already slamming into her as the blonde kissed his neck and rigid back.

“N- n- oh! God, that f-feels so good!” The girl attempted to talk as he bounced her briskly on and off his shaft, looking down to enjoy the sight of their joining, his glistening cock plowing in and out of her as she yelped. Closing his eyes, Thomas could remember Isobel’s pale skin- so smooth and flawless, those slender shoulders...her breasts would grow larger still, he thought greedily, remembering her mother’s impressive cleavage. Unless she’d had them done?

His thrusts slowed for a moment before yanking out of the girl before him and slamming the blonde on her back, pushing her knees up against her shoulders. Pushing into her pussy, Thomas ran one broad palm roughly up her neck, squeezing lightly against the throbbing artery there. “Such a good girl, letting Daddy fuck you. Do you like Daddy filling you up?” Her answering moan was drowned out by Isobel’s low voice in his ear, whispering how much she loved it, loved him. That he was her first and her last. Speeding up his thrusts, Thomas heard her groan tipping over into pain from pleasure, but he couldn’t be bothered. Isobel’s first time would be slow, he would be gentle with her. But oh...after he broke in his lovely doll, he would fuck into her hard enough to spear into her abdomen. Absently pushing a thumb against the woman’s clit, he began rubbing her in hard circles, directing their bed partner onto her back. He would never share Isobel. He would protect her from the fumbling sweaty hands of school boys, attempting to take away the sweetness of her. Thomas’s head rocked back, feeling the squeeze of the blonde’s orgasm against his cock, picturing Isobel tightening her long legs around his waist, his arm thrust under her hips to draw her up and against his cock. “Do you feel it,” he murmured into the other girl’s ear as he began fucking her again, “do you feel your greedy little clit poking up, brushing against my stomach? I can feel the squelch of your juices against me, you filthy girl, my legs and cock are wet with you. If I take your bud between thumb and finger, like so-” Thomas did so, and pulled sharply, getting a scream out of the girl as her back arched, “-could you come for me, whore? Come now, dirty girl, juice all over Daddy's cock. NOW!” He suddenly roared and the gasping creature below him did come, perhaps in self-defense.

Pulling out of her and back on his knees, Thomas stretched until his muscles cracked. There was nothing like a good fuck to clear his mind. Rising abruptly, he pulled off the condom, looking over his two panting conquests. “There is a bathroom through that door, ladies. Feel free to tidy up, and then the gentleman waiting outside the door will take you home.”

The two looked at each other, then back to him. “Don’t you- we could-” Shaking his head and smiling politely, Thomas left the room, hearing one call out hopefully “I’m Lisa!” as he shut the door.

Finally showered and back at his flat, Thomas dialed up Morgan, the Corporation’s financial specialist. “It’s Williams,” he said abruptly as the man picked up instantly, “how well is Alistair Cameron doing in middle management?”

There were a couple of clicks of a keyboard, and the man’s emotionless voice answered. “Quite well, Mr. Williams.”

Idly flipping a razor sharp knife from hand to hand, Thomas asked, “How difficult would it be for Cameron’s fortunes to take a turn for the worse?”

“It would be just as easy to do as you would like it to be.” Morgan answered, still in that strange, flat affect.

Picturing Isobel’s big green eyes, her soft breasts pressing against him as he tore into her virginity, Thomas smiled darkly. “Then let’s begin.”


	2. School's Out For Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is the coolest girl in school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm riding a fine line here between showing her growing sexual attraction without sending Jaguar Tom into perve-ville. He may be absolutely without morals, but he has no sexual interest in Isobel as a child. His vision is of her is as the young woman he plans to mold her into. His interest in 14 (now 15) year old Isobel is more like a sculptor or a painter envisioning their creation. Thank you as always for reading.
> 
> By the way- I bookmarked myself just to see if any updates for my stories were going out, and apparently only one story ever sent out notifications. I emailed help here at AO3 and they insisted the notifications must be going to everyone's spam box in their email. So, no help there. Has anyone else run into this? I'd appreciate any suggestions.

The first year at boarding school was just what Isobel expected: lonely, with ridiculous amounts of schoolwork to keep her busy. She was by nature shy, and tended to babble when she was nervous, so the girl had learned long ago to stay quiet and watch everything around her. Isobel was trained into this behavior from birth, since the explosive tempers of both her parents were best avoided by spotting the warning signs and promptly hiding in her bedroom. There, she’d put in her earbuds and turn up the volume on her iPod, hoping they wouldn’t decide to pull her into the fight. But the relief of being away from the endless battles and the gradual acquisition of girlfriends made the spring semester speed by.

“When are your parents picking you up?” Carla was lounging on Isobel’s bed, watching her friend pack.

“Noonish, I think,” the girl shrugged throwing another jumper into her bag. “They’re never on time, so I’ve learned to make sure my iPad’s charged and pack a lot of books so I have something to do while I wait.”

Carla frowned, opening Isobel’s bedside table drawer and rifling through it. “Why don’t you just hang out downstairs in the lounge? It’s silly to just stand outside for hours.” She frowned as she watched her friend shudder.

“You don’t keep Bridget and Alistair waiting. You just don’t.”

So, she was prepared for a long stay on the stone seating at the entry to the main hall of Benenden, the massive gothic architecture looming behind her. Isobel closed her eyes, raising her face to the weak spring sunshine and enjoying the warmth.

“You look so very relaxed, darling. It seems a shame to disturb you.” The beautiful, deep voice behind her startled Isobel, nearly making her fall off the bench.

“Mr Williams?” She asked incredulously, “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, ah,” he admonished, leaning down to her eye level, “It’s Thomas.” He wore an exquisitely tailored dark blue suit, crisp white shirt and a sapphire patterned tie that made his eyes blaze. Hands in his pockets, he smiled reassuringly. “Your father ran into some...complications at work. Since I was conducting a business meeting here in Kent, I offered to drive you home.” Looking past Thomas to his sleek black Jaguar, Isobel’s heart began pounding in her chest. A ride home in that beautiful thing? With him? What would she say that wouldn’t bore this beautiful man half to death?

“You must be Mr. Williams, welcome!” Isobel almost didn’t recognize the voice of the school’s headmistress, the 60-something Mrs. Borridge’s tone was high and flirtatious. The woman swept past her, smelling of tweed and peppermint.

Thomas flashed the older woman another charming smile and squeezed her hand. “Ah, Mrs- Borridge, correct? Thank you for taking such good care of our Isobel.”

He couldn’t see her with his back turned, but he knew that the girl’s jaw dropped. Smothering his grin, Thomas attempted to pay attention to the woman’s gushing. “Such a good student...one of our best...really, such a good girl…” His hand suddenly tightened on those last words and he dropped the hand of the headmistress, trying to mentally control the sudden rise in his cock. A good girl… Mentally groaning, Thomas subtly adjusted his pants to hide his erection, nodding at intervals during Borridge’s stream of compliments.

“It seems as if Benenden has our Isobel off to an excellent start. If this continues, you must send me a contact from the school’s funds committee.” He watched the woman’s eyes bulge with excitement and she nodded.

“Well, then. Miss Cameron, off you go. Your mother called me earlier today, letting me know Mr. Williams would be bringing you home.” The headmistress thrust her business card into the lax hand of Thomas with a bright smile before heading back into the school.

A warm finger slid under Isobel’s jaw, shutting her mouth with a snap. “Oh!” She collected herself, looking up at Thomas in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, it was just a bit of a surprise.”

One dark brow rose as he looked down to her. “Your mother didn’t ring you?”

Isobel laughed, the pretty sound of it making his cock start to stiffen again. “My mother? Oh, good lord, no!” Sobering, she gazed up at him, “Are you certain this isn’t too much of a bother?”

"Not in the slightest,” he assured her gallantly, picking up her heavy bag as if it weighed nothing. “Come along, Isobel.” He smiled as the girl instantly fell into step behind him. A good girl, indeed.

The Jaguar was everything she had hoped for- the rich leather seats and a dashboard that lit up like the space shuttle. Seating herself, Isobel smiled nervously when Thomas bent his long body over hers to take her seatbelt and fasten it himself. He smelled so good, she thought, taking a discreet breath, like clean cotton, spicy soap and a cologne she couldn’t name, though the girl was sure it was expensive. “I’m certain you hear this all the time, but your car is just beautiful,” she said, watching him gracefully slide in and start the Jaguar. She looked out to see a giggling group of her schoolmates watching them. Thomas pressed a button and lowered the convertible's roof, exposing Isobel to their little audience.

“Friends of yours?” His smooth voice right next to her ear made Isobel shiver. Shrugging a little, she looked down at her hands. The upper classes always ignored the new students. Handing her a pair of RayBans, Thomas said “Well then, wave goodbye graciously, and give them something to envy all summer.” Laughing, Isobel did as she was told and they roared off in a highly satisfactory manner.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Isobel just enjoying the scenery flashing by them. “Thank you again for taking me,” she ventured finally, “it’s so nice of you, really. I...I guess I didn’t know you worked with my father so closely?” Truth be told, Alistair was always discussing schemes with her mother to get closer to Thomas, wanting to work directly under him. Isobel had the impression that despite her father’s efforts, he saw very little of the Second in Command at the Corporation.

Thomas glanced over briefly before turning his attention to the road. “More so this year. He speaks of you all the time, so I feel as if you and I are already friends. When he couldn’t make it to Kent, I was happy to step in.”

Isobel couldn’t help it. “My- my father talks about me? Are you sure you’re not thinking about another employee? Because he doesn’t even speak to me much, let alone about me. You have so many employees that I’m sure it’s easy to get them all and their homes lives a bit mixed up, and-” One long finger pressed against her full lips, and she instantly shut up.

"You’re doing that thing again, darling.” Thomas’s amusement was clear in his voice, which made her relax a bit, though his finger was still on her lips. For a brief moment, Isobel wondered what it would be like to open her mouth and suck his finger inside, running her tongue along it. Embarrassed, she leaned away from his hand. What on earth would make her think such a filthy thing about her father’s boss?

“Sorry.” Her voice was small.

"Don’t be,” said Thomas, shifting into a higher gear as they rounded on to A13. “I enjoy hearing you talk, but I know you worry about- what did you call it? Prattling?”

“That’s what my mother calls it,” Isobel admitted shifting in her seat. The action made her little flowered sundress ride up a bit on those smooth thighs, and Thomas stifled a groan. “I talk too much when I’m nervous, and she just hates it.”

Thinking of putting a bullet into Bridget's skull, he smiled kindly, “That’s a natural reaction, I think. But you also seem to watch everything around you quite closely. Your observation skills must be excellent.”

“It helps to know which way the wind is blowing,” she answered without thinking, “then you know when to keep your head down.” Thomas could see the moment Isobel cringed, realizing what she’d just said.

“Isobel,” he said sternly, “look at me." They were slowing with traffic to pass an accident and Thomas had a moment to stare into those anxious green eyes. “You may tell me anything and everything, my dear. You don’t have to worry about being judged, or if I’ll repeat what you say. I already know you’re a bright, creative girl, and I shall make you a promise if you make one to me.”

“What’s that?” Isobel’s utter attention was fixed on him, and he smiled inwardly.

“I will never repeat anything you tell me. To anyone. Of course, I’m trusting you to not do anything foolish that I would be forced to tell you parents for your safety. But your secrets are safe with me. And I ask you to do the same with me. In my position...let me just say that I’m a private person.”

“Of course,” Isobel nodded, “I can see that. But...why?”

“Why what?” His attention was back on the road.

“Why would you talk to _me?_ I mean, I’m a kid. I’m not sophisticated or- interesting…” she trailed off lamely, fingering the edge of her dress.

His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but Isobel knew Thomas was looking directly into hers. “I don’t find you to be a ‘kid,’ or boring. I find you to be intelligent, funny, and very charming.” Thomas sighed, gripping the leather steering wheel. “You’re a breath of fresh air to me. And I think we could be good friends.” He looked over to see her still staring at him raptly, brow furrowed. “What, darling? You don’t think you can have an adult friend?”

A small smile crept over those lovely pink lips of hers, and Thomas suddenly pictured them around his cock. Shaking his head to remove the image, he looked at the road again. “I would like that. Thank you, Thomas.” And thus, the trap was set.

Isobel hummed that night as she put away her clothes, taping pictures from school to the frame of her mirror and smiling a little giddily. Friends. Friends with someone as handsome and interesting as Thomas? The mysterious millionaire that her father worked for? But he didn’t act that way with her. The rest of the ride home created some of the best moments in her life. She asked him about his travels around the world, where he grew up, did he like his Jaguar as much as she did- and he answered her. Laughing easily, asking questions in return about her life at school, even getting her to tell him about how much she loved ballet, and her secret dream of dancing with a company. Walking into her bathroom and turning on the tub, Isobel sat on the side. Thomas was so nice. He was so fascinating to talk to and never made her feel stupid or dull. She’d been relieved that neither parent was home when she arrived, so she could avoid the persistent questioning about the intimidating Mr. Williams. Sliding into the tub, Isobel closed her eyes, smiling again.

 

She was lying on his bed- it had to be a flat somewhere in the middle of London, because she could hear the traffic. The glass terrace door was open, and Thomas was standing outside, the moon gleaming over his bare shoulders. As he turned, Isobel gasped to see he was naked, his shaft already thickening as he walked to her. She’d seen a penis before- in some of the website links her giggling friends insisted on forwarding to her. But this one- Thomas was alarmingly huge. Kneeling up and back on her heels, Isobel blushed, realizing she was naked too, grabbing the crisp white sheet to cover herself. “No darling,” Thomas said, pulling the cloth away from her. “You never hide from me.” Putting a hand on either side of her, he bent in for a kiss, running his firm mouth against hers and forcing her lips open, his tongue sliding inside to curl around hers. “So sweet,” he whispered into her ear, placing kisses down her neck, “so soft and lovely.” When his rough hands came up to cup her breasts, Isobel sighed, somehow not embarrassed at all, pushing them harder against his grip. Thomas slid her hard nipples between two fingers, letting them peek out as he continued to squeeze and play with her. When his dark head bent down to take one of them in his mouth, Isobel moaned wantonly, sliding her hands into his thick curls, scratching against his scalp. Thomas’s answering groan reverberated through her sensitive nipple. After sucking one into a hard peak, he moved to the other, his azure eyes looking up to hers knowingly. The feeling of those sucking lips against her was sending electric shocks to her spine, traveling down to her pussy. Isobel clenched her thighs together, trying to make the sensation stop. Thomas chuckled, those big hands reaching down to pull her legs apart, settling his torso between them to keep her open to his gaze. “No hiding, sweetness,” he reminded her. “You belong to me. This-” he kissed one thigh, “is mine. And this-” His hot mouth moved to her other limb, kissing closer to her center. “-is mine. And this- this is definitely mine.” Isobel erupted in a shriek as his lips slammed down on her center, his tongue splitting her soft lips to dive to the opening of her channel and circle around, before sliding up to her clit. Giving her another mischievous glance with those beautiful eyes, Thomas carefully put her clit between his teeth and tickled the hard little nub with his tongue. Isobel mindlessly tried to pull away- it was so good- but her thighs were shaking and she felt all wet down there, more than just the moisture from his mouth and it was all so much- so _very_ much to... And then the girl’s back arched violently, and the first orgasm of her life poured from her and into the waiting lips and tongue of the man above her.

“T-Thomas…” Isobel moaned, head lolling to the side.

The feel of his hard body sliding up her sweaty one made the girl shudder. Licking his lips with an embarrassingly obvious relish, Thomas looked down on her, cupping one cheek with his hand before sliding it to her long neck. “Such a good girl,” he praised, “such a good girl for Daddy, coming so hard on my tongue.”

This seemed strange, Isobel thought, dazed from her orgasm, Daddy? She’d never heard that kind of talk in the movies where she’d gathered most of her sexual knowledge. “Am I your good girl?” She finally whispered, embarrassed at the surge of gratitude the thought gave her.

Thomas smiled down at her lovingly, his hand sliding to caress her soft stomach before moving down to her pussy again. “Such a very good girl. Did you like Daddy’s mouth on you? On your stiff little clit?” His hand moved subtly, bringing something hot and hard against her swollen, wet entrance. “Will you take Daddy’s cock like the good girl you are?”

Isobel stiffened, her loose-limbed feeling suddenly gone. The thing at her entrance was big, the broad, hard head trying to push into her, but there was not enough room, it wouldn't fit _there_ , it would hurt and it was too much and-

Surging up, Isobel gasped to see the huge wave of water splash from the tub and over the grey tile floor. The door slammed open, and her mother was glaring at her with irritation. “What are you _doing_ , Isobel? For god’s sake, do you want to flood the bathroom?”

Drawing her long, coltish legs up and wrapping her arms around them to cover herself, the girl shook her head. “I’m sorry, mum. I- I must have fallen asleep. I’ll clean it up.”

“See that you do,” Bridget said crossly. “Your father and I are going out. There’s some sandwiches in the kitchen for you.” She moved to leave, but Isobel stopped her.

"Wait- where's Ari? He's back from school already, right?"

Bridget pursed her lips. "His maths scores were abysmal for spring quarter. He's re-taking his exams with another month of study at school." She closed the door before her daughter could answer.

Isobel's heart sank. Her 8 year old brother Alistair the Second- as she teasingly called him- was the only thing she'd been looking forward to during her summer at home. From the moment she held him as a baby, Isobel loved him, loved him more than anyone else in the world. She hated the thought that he'd be stuck at boarding school for half the summer.

Reaching up to pull down a towel and throw it over the puddle on the floor, Isobel leaned back in the warm water and ran her hands over her face. That- that dream about Thomas... What was _wrong_ with her?

 

Across London, Thomas was thrusting roughly into another nameless, faceless girl, picturing his Isobel as a beautiful young woman, wearing her graduation robes as he fucked her against the hood of his Jaguar.


	3. Sweet Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel receives the Perfect First Kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that I warned you the Jaguar Villain Tom is a Very Bad Man. A big fat kiss of appreciation to Miss Tardis for walking me through the Dom/sub relationship. The woman is the genius ninja of top/bottom dynamics.

“It’s not your fault,” Carla said, offering Isobel another chocolate biscuit. “Boys are just stupid.”

Her friend smiled weakly, accepting the cookie and consuming it in three bites. “ _Please_ , Carla. This is the third guy in a row to stand me up! After asking me out and acting all excited about the date. And there I was again, waiting at the coffeehouse. For an hour!” Isobel grabbed another biscuit and snapped it in half, “Alone! Let’s admit it. There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?”

Carla’s brow wrinkled, looking at her friend. There wasn’t anything wrong with her friend. Not by any teenage boy- or girl- standard. Isobel was tall, willowy and graceful. Her huge green eyes and sweet personality made her enormously likeable. And she wasn’t even vain about how pretty she was! “Were you using all those big, fancy words?” She teased, “Talking in Mandarin Chinese? Or Russian?” While Isobel’s academic focus was linguistics- since ballet was out of the question, thanks to her mother- there was really no practical application, aside from that time at the market when the nice lady from Moscow didn’t know how to make change.

“Never miiiind,” Isobel flopped on her back, staring up at the grim off-white shade of her dorm room ceiling. “I’ll just focus on school.” Forcing a smile, she turned her head to watch Carla polish off the last of the cookies. “Besides, Thomas promised to buy me a Jaguar if I graduate at the top of our class.” Watching the girl’s eyes bulge out as she choked on her chocolate biscuit, Isobel burst out laughing and patted Carla vigorously on the back. “I’m certain he was joking, though imagine driving a Jag…”

Finally swallowing with some difficulty, the shorter girl shook her head. “Oh, I believe it. Didn’t you tell me Thomas let you drive a bit of the way here when he brought you back last fall?”

The first real smile spread across Isobel’s face as she recalled Thomas pulling over on the side of a country road outside of Kent. “What are we doing here?” She asked, looking around curiously. She was still reeling with excitement over discovering that this gorgeous man would actually be driving her back to school! No cringing in the back of her mother’s Range Rover as she fought with her father- instead, another heavenly ride in that luxurious black Jaguar of his. Thomas even put down the top when she begged him to, laughing as her long hair flew behind them in a ribbon of brown and gold. It was the first time she’d even seen her father’s boss laugh- and he was beautiful, white teeth flashing as he chuckled at her excitement.

“I’m going to teach you how to drive,” he said calmly, freeing both their seatbelts and sliding out of his seat. “Come over here, darling.”

“R-really?” She squeaked, alternately thrilled and horrified by the possibility.

His white teeth flashed again as Thomas chuckled. “Get out, Isobel. Come here.” The last order was issued in a clipped tone, different than the amusement from just a moment before. His pride in his little girl surged as she instantly left her seat, not quite running to stand in front of him. “Good girl,” Thomas purred. “Get in.” Leaning over to fasten her seatbelt as he always did, he smiled inwardly to hear her little exhalation of breath as he drew close. Taking an elastic from his pocket, Thomas briskly wound Isobel’s long tail of hair into a tight ponytail, tugging it lightly as he wrapped the tie around it. Her breath caught in a hitch as he yanked her hair a little harder than necessary, and Thomas looked down to see the dark fan of her lashes against her cheeks, eyes closed and breath coming faster. “You’ll need to keep your hair out of your face, darling.” He instructed her in a husky tone, trying to clear his throat. Groaning inwardly, Thomas angrily ordered his cock to stand down and got back in the Jaguar on her side. Sliding the long fingers of his left hand around the back of her neck, Thomas watched goosebumps spring up on her arms, bare and lightly tanned from the summer. ‘So perfect, my little doll,’ he gloated, ‘so _very_ perfect.’ He kept his hand on her neck as he instructed her, watching Isobel wipe her sweaty hands on her little shorts and take the wheel. Three or four jerking attempts to get in gear later, the girl cautiously drove the length of the lane, a huge, excited grin on her face. Ignoring the fact that he’d need to get the gear shift serviced after the beating she’d given it, Thomas smoothed the hair out of her eyes. "How did it feel?"

Turning her face up to his, Isobel was nearly vibrating with excitement. "It was amazing! Thank you so very much Thomas! I wish-" she broke off, smile fading a bit. 

“What?” He said, eyeing her curiously.

Looking down at her hands, Isobel admitted, “I wish Ari were here. This would be the greatest moment of his life. He just loves sports cars- he collects all the models- especially for Jaguar and Porsche.”

Gently cupping her cheek, Thomas turned her face to him again. “Then during the Christmas holidays, we shall find a dry road and take your brother for a ride at a dangerously high speed.”

“Really?” Hope sparked back in her eyes, and Isobel impulsively leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. Drawing back, she paled at his strange expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

He shook off her apologies, starting the car again. “No, darling. That was a lovely thank you. I suppose I’m just not used to being touched.”

Isobel’s tender heart melted. His light stubble had tickled her lips and his skin was so warm- she lightly touched her fingertips to her mouth, not seeing Thomas conceal a savage grin.

 

Back in the present, Isobel nodded with a misty smile. “It was wonderful.”

“It was wooonderful!” Teased Carla, smacking her on the back of the head with a pillow.

 

“The boy won’t be calling her again, Sir.” The gravelly tone of Thomas’s favorite “handler” reported in after disposing of the latest failed suitor for Isobel. “He’s looking at 4 years house arrest and probation for theft.” Clicking on the picture of the youth’s sobbing face and doctored arrest warrant, Thomas nodded briskly. “Very good. Carry on.”

Staring out the floor to ceiling window of his massive hotel suite in Beijing, Thomas absently swirled his glass of scotch, wondering what his Isobel was doing now. Thanks to live feeds from surveillance cameras in her dorm room and photos from the employee he planted at her campus, Thomas really could tell at any moment what she was up to- but he craved to be there- to be watching her laugh and flip her hair over her shoulder, dance with her earbuds in and her iPod blasting some tune that made her hips swivel in the most delicious way. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Thomas opened it to find a pretty girl with long brown hair. 

“Come in,” he said, looking her over. She didn’t look enough like his grown-up Isobel, but he’d fuck her from behind and wind that long hair in his fist.

"Hello, Sir,” she answered demurely, standing in the middle of the big room with her head down.

Thomas circled her, idly stroking a hand along her bare midriff. “Tonight, I will address you as Isobel. You will call me Daddy. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir- I mean, Daddy!”

“Such a shame. Bend over the table and raise your skirt.” Thomas slipped his belt loose from his pants, making certain the girl heard the hiss of the leather coming free. Bending it in half, his fisted the buckle in his hand to keep from damaging her skin. “You will count each one, Isobel, and you will thank me for it.”

“Y-yes Daddy…”

 

Isobel eyed her iPhone with mild surprise. Why was her mother calling her? Whenever she needed to communicate with her daughter, it was usually in a curt email. “Mum? Hi.”

“Hello, Isobel, we’ve been making plans for your birthday, and-”

“You have?” She didn’t mean to interrupt her mother, but they didn’t bring her home from school for her last two birthdays, so Isobel was a little surprised.

“Of course,” Bridget said impatiently, “it’s your 16th! That’s important, of course. Now then, your father booked the Corporation’s country manor home for your party, and-”

It clicked then, and her daughter nodded automatically. Thomas. They’d exchanged a brief email a couple of weeks ago and she’d mentioned her birthday. “-at any rate,” Bridget continued, “we’ll be picking you up Friday, and-”

“Is Ari coming?” Isobel knew the continued interruptions would not help her mother’s mood, but she couldn’t have her first birthday party in however-when without her little brother.

"Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother said coldly, “we’re not going to interrupt Alistair Junior’s education for a _party_ , of all things.”

“Maybe I could ask Thomas to stop by and fetch him.” Isobel suddenly burst out, a little terrified by her nerve and knowing she could never ask him for any such thing, especially after that incredible afternoon on Christmas break when he took them both for a road trip in the Jaguar. For an entire _day_.

There was a short, furious silence, and her mother’s words were clipped. “I’ll fetch him after you. Be ready.”

 

It was already a magical night, Isobel thought, and the party hadn’t even started! Three of her friends from school were clustered around her, sipping from a purloined bottle of champagne and ignoring the glare of the stylist getting the guest of honor ready. “Is Jeffrey coming?” Carla drawled in an exaggerated aristocratic air. The manor house was already getting to them, Isobel thought with amusement.

“Jeffrey?” Her second-best friend Kylie perked up. “Jeffrey? I haven’t heard of this one.”

“He’s Harriet’s cousin,” Isobel volunteered shyly, “we got talking online, and met last week. I just thought since he was in town, that he’d like to come, and he asked for an invitation right away.” Laughing as the girls ooo’ed and ahhh’ed, she shook her head. “If he shows up, that is.”

  
“Stop it, you idiot!” Carla took another swig from the bottle before handing it to Isobel. “He’ll be here. I saw how he looked at you- and he’s at Eton! Your unlucky streak has been broken, my girl!”

\----------------------------------------------

 

“Darling,” Thomas soothed. “What are you doing out here? As you might recall, this Sweet Sixteen birthday party is for you.”

Isobel looked up, scrubbing at her wet eyes and trying to smile. “I’m so sorry, Thomas! And after everything you’ve done- throwing this party for me- don’t even pretend, I know my father didn’t think of this-”

“Hush,” he ordered gently, sitting down next to her on the stone bench. Blotchy cheeks and pink nose aside, his lovely doll looked exquisite in the green gown that highlighted her astonishing pale eyes, the shade of a peridot tonight. Someone had drawn Isobel’s hair into a complicated updo that made her look older, more sophisticated, though Thomas always preferred it down, fantasizing about gripping a fistful of it and wrapping it around his hand. “What’s troubling you?”

She looked down at her hands, gripping each other in her lap. “I feel so stupid. I thought this one would be different, but-”

“This one?” Thomas smoothed a dangling curl behind her ear. “What do you mean?”

“All the guys- every one- who’ve asked me out have all stood me up.” Taking the pocket square he offered from his suit jacket, Isobel wiped her nose, looking up at him with watery eyes. “The one tonight, Jeffrey? He seemed different. But I’m here alone, feeling like a fool again. What’s wrong with me, Thomas?”

"Sweet girl, there's nothing wrong with you." Thomas put an expensively suited arm around her. "Teenage boys are idiots. I was an idiot as a teenage boy."

Isobel looked at him shocked out of her tears, "I cannot begin to picture you as a pimple-faced teenage boy. I can't!"

He laughed, gently squeezing her shoulders. "I was." Thomas didn't mention he'd become adept at bondage before he was out of his teens and could suspend his sub by only three knots. "Now, all your friends and family are here- there's a big cake and the DJ is- and I quote your friend Carla- 'the shit.' Are you ready to come in?"

"It's just..." Her head was down, absently twisting his handkerchief in her lap.

His dark head bent to hers. "What, darling?"

Thomas knew the minute she raised those sweet tearful eyes to his what she was going to say. "I guess I was hoping for my first kiss tonight. I'm 16 and never been- oh, God, that sounds like one of those cheesy songs from the '60's!"

Standing abruptly, he pulled her up with him. Smoothing his tie and clearing his throat, Thomas said gravely, "Isobel. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to be your first kiss?"

Isobel's heart was pounding wildly. Thomas would kiss her? Oh, god a first kiss from someone as gorgeous as he was? Oh, my god-

"I'm waiting for an answer, darling." Those beautiful eyes of his glowed azure in the garden twinkle lights, a half smile on his face as he waited for her answer.

"YespleaseIwouldlovethat," she gasped, knowing she sounded like a moron.

"Very well," Thomas murmured, his low, smooth voice sliding over her anxious nerves. Putting his hand under her chin, he lifted her face to his, grinning inside at being the first to touch his doll like this- and if he had his way, he would be the last. Gently running his thumb along her full lower lip, he whispered, "Close your eyes, darling." Those long lashes obediently dropped, and his hand slid up to cup her cheek as he leaned down. By any standards, it would considered a spectacular kiss. But for a 16 year old with a mad crush on the sophisticated man before her, it was the kiss of a lifetime. Gently pressing his lips against hers, Thomas brushed them back and forth gently before settling in for a deeper kiss, pressing his mouth against hers as he stroked her cheekbone with one finger. Forcing himself to pull away before he plunged his tongue into her mouth, Thomas gave her another soft peck and straightened up. Isobel's eyes were closed, head dipping slightly against his hand, lips parted. "Open your eyes." She instantly did so, staring up at him adoringly. His eyes crinkled at the corners as Thomas dropped his hand from her soft face. "Happy Birthday, sweet girl. I hope your wish comes true," he purred, echoing her words from 2 years ago.

"It did," Isobel sighed, then gasping in mortification as he grinned down at her knowingly.

The rest of the evening made Isobel's party famous as the best bash ever for the Third Years at Benenden. And while there were boys there who hopefully approached the guest of honor and made their tentative advances, she had eyes for no one but Thomas, who stood with the adults, chatting idly as he kept a lookout on her progress through the room. When Isobel began dancing with the other girls, he groaned internally and left. There was only so much of those sinuous hips he could take. Placing a phone call once he was in the Jaguar, he made an appointment at his favorite club.

 

"Mr. Williams,” purred the sleek blonde at the front door, greeting guests in nothing but sequin panties and nipple clamps, “a pleasure to see you again. Jasmine is waiting for you in room two.”

Taking the key, Thomas cast an eye over the crowd. “How long has she been in there?”

“About 30 minutes, Sir.”

Thoughtfully spinning the key ring on his finger, Thomas said, “Perhaps you should join us in- say- an hour?”

The blonde’s eyes glittered as she answered breathlessly, “It would be my pleasure, Sir.”

Opening the door to room two, he found a brunette with long, brown hair balancing precariously on her tiptoes. Her hands were bound above her, and a long staff with a dildo on the end was buried ominously in her cunt. The girl’s legs were shaking with the strain of staying up so the dildo didn’t sink any deeper. 

“Poor baby,” Thomas purred, “are you uncomfortable?”

“No Sir!” Gasped the girl, sweat sliding down her bound arms. She tried to turn with his progress around the room, painfully feeling the dildo slide inside her. Taking off his jacket, he smiled thinly as he loosened his tie and carefully rolled up his sleeves. The sub began to tremble- there was something terrifying about the way he eyed her as made himself comfortable.

“Are you afraid, little girl?” Thomas asked, running a thumb up her neck.

“No Sir!” She moaned, trying to stay on tiptoe, slipping more and more as the shaking muscles in her thighs began to fail her.

“Oh, darling,” he sounded so disappointed, the girl thought hazily, “you’re lying to me, you naughty little cunt.” Thomas re-appeared in front of her, casually swishing the flogger he’d found. With a quick snap, it slapped against her bare mound, and the girl shrieked. “Hush!” He snarled, “I’d stay on tiptoe, you bad girl. That rubber cock looks ready to burst right through your belly button.”

“Yes, Sir…” She was clenching on to the ropes holding her hands up now, trying to gain some leverage over the invading rubber phallus. Moaning as she felt the flogger lightly stroke over her pussy, the girl tried to look pleadingly at Thomas.

“What is your safe word?” He asked, looking away as if bored.

She sniffled a bit. “Kanye.”

Rolling his eyes, Thomas slapped the flogger against her ass, enjoying the immediate whimper. “Then let’s begin.”

By the time the blonde slipped through the door exactly 60 minutes later, he was vigorously fucking his wailing sub in the ass, the dildo still firmly inserted into her cunt. Shivering with excitement, the girl tore off her sequin panties and edged towards the bed. “May I join in, Sir?”

Not breaking the rhythm of his thrusting, Thomas reached out a long arm and pulled her on to the bed, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and gently tugging on the piercing. Enjoying her moan blending with the wails from the girl under him, he reached two hard fingers around to briskly rub the sub’s clit, enjoying her tighten around his cock desperately. “You may come,” he allowed, and with a grateful shriek, his submissive for the night did as she was told, shuddering and gasping against him. Pulling out and yanking the condom off his still-rigid cock, he pulled the blonde to him for a harsh kiss. “Tidy up our sweet friend,” he ordered, bringing her face close to the sub’s wet center, “and then I’ll fuck you.” Sliding two fingers inside her to encourage the blonde’s progress, Thomas watched impassively as the two girls rolled around with each other, moaning happily.

 

Isobel carefully took off her pretty green dress and hung it up on her closet door, where she could see it as she fell asleep. She felt...smiling and rolling her face in her crisp pillow, Isobel giggled. She felt like Cinderella.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primarily because I'm exhausted with keeping these two legal, our sweet Isobel turns 18 in the next chapter and all hell breaks loose. Go warm up so you don't strain a muscle.


	4. Such A Good Girl- So Eager To Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel's restlessness makes her want to be more than the "good girl" everyone expects from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing myself into an ulcer, trying to keep this story on the right side of "oh, that's WAY too fucking much!" Hopefully, I'm achieving that. Please let me know your thoughts as I go find some aspirin. And thank you as always for reading.

 

Isobel’s mother, her teachers, even her Lacrosse coach were fond of saying what a _good_ girl she was, so eager to please, so hardworking. She would force a smile at every teacher consult, squirming uncomfortably. Because no matter how kindly they put it, it seemed that all the adults in the 17 year old’s life thought she was a pushover. Weak. She could certainly see how the trend started, knowing even as a child that arguing with her parents was impossible, that it was always easier to just go along with what they wanted from her. Since perfect grades were pretty much the only thing that kept Isobel from being disowned, obeying her teachers was next. But in her final year at Benenden, the girl was getting restless, even irritable. Playing Lacrosse did wonders for her self-confidence, racing across the field with girls equally fierce and willing to give no quarter. And though she’d never put two and two together, Isobel was beginning to pull back sometimes when her mother yanked that invisible cord.

The true driving force behind Isobel's slowly growing self-confidence was the attention of Thomas. Not “Uncle Thomas?” like some of her teachers questioned, not “Mr. Williams, the millionaire?” As her headmistress wanted to know. Not even “That fine ass friend of yours,” that the other fourth years insisted on calling Thomas. Picking her up for Christmas break that year, he'd actually overheard one of the girls shouting up the stairs  that “That fine ass specimen of a man is here to pick you up, Isobel!” The poor girl felt literally on fire as she crept down the stairs to greet a grinning Thomas. Somewhere along the way, Isobel stopped questioning the Vice President of a billion-dollar corporation about why he was picking up a 17-year-old from school: to take her home for the holidays, arranging outings with her and her brother Ari, and sending her little things during his travels. He just did. Isobel constantly agonized over how to repay him for his kindness. She spent all of her Christmas money buying him a blue silk tie that she’d watched him notice in a shop window. She knitted a pair of slippers for him from silky smooth angora yarn- that she was fairly certain never left the darkness of his closet. She was always careful to say please and thank you and write him notes of appreciation. But she knew it was never enough, and in the back of her mind the question of why he was so good to her kept growing.

Even her parents seemed in a better mood when she came home to visit. There was less fighting about money, and Isabel noticed more expensive jewelry dripping from her mother’s neck. Ali finally got those riding lessons he’d been longing for, and horse models began to crowd in with his sports cars. “Things must be going well at the Corporation,” Isobel ventured to her father one night.

Not looking up from his tablet Alastair said, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Isobel struggled to ask the right question, “I was worried with how expensive my school is and Ali's, as well-  but it doesn't seem to be as much of a hardship for you as before.”

Then her father's fingers slowed down on his tablet, and his eyes rose to meet hers. She couldn't determine the expression on his face- there was guilt, pride, and unless she was mistaken, behind all of it was fear. “It's not for you to worry about,” he said coldly. “As always, your concern should be putting that education to good use. All you need to know is that your college fund is ready.”  

 

“What do you want for your 18th birthday?” Asked Thomas. He’d come to Kent on "business" and stopped by to take Isobel out to lunch.

With her head back against the Jag's leather seat, just enjoying the sunshine, Isobel answered, “Oh, I won't be here.”

One dark brow arched as Thomas looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Isobel turned sideways in her seat  to look at him with a huge smile on her face. “Some of my friends and I are going on holiday, I'm so excited! Just imagine, Thomas, I'll turn 18 while in Madrid! Such an exciting city.”

There was a short silence and Isobel realized that Thomas wasn’t smiling with her. “How long have you been planning this, Isobel?” His tone was still calm and composed, but the girl could feel a chill spreading up her spine just the same.   

“Three weeks?” Isabel hated the question mark she’d put on the end of the sentence, as if she needed Thomas’s permission to go. She'd been mildly surprised when her parents agreed to it- but they were still flushed and excited with her acceptance into Cambridge University, as well as reading acceptance letters from Princeton and Julliard over in the United States. Parting with a small sum of money for the trip was worth the satisfaction of bragging to their friends.

“And your parents agreed to this?” Thomas said, hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel.

Isobel stared at his white knuckles, shifting uneasily in her seat. “Yes?” Another anxious question mark at the end of her answer and somehow feeling like she should've asked _his_ permission first.

"Then there's only one thing to do," he answered calmly.

"What's that?"

"This weekend I'm giving you a crash course in self-defense," he turned his head to smile at her again, but Isobel noticed it didn't reach his eyes.

Which is how Isobel found herself in the Corporation gym with Thomas in his lovely running shorts showing off those muscled thighs. Tugging on her dance tights and wrap-around, she smiled nervously. "You're a beautiful girl, darling." Thomas circling her, hands on his hips. "Beautiful girls on holiday, perhaps with a drink or two, with girlfriends not quite paying attention? It's recipe for disaster." Isobel laughed but quickly sobered up as he stopped, staring down at her sternly.

"I'm sorry, Thomas. It's just- you know my terrible track record with men. I'm pretty certain they'll keep a wide berth, no matter what country I'm in." Isobel was not being completely truthful- she very much hoped for a little holiday romance- nothing earthshaking, but a little fling that she'd remember coming home. Something that made her more 'a woman of the world.'

"Really..." It was said in a low, silky tone just over her should, the drawn out word ending in a slight growl. "There are men out there, darling, that want to hurt you. Take advantage of you. So, what would you do if someone came up behind you and did this?"

Within a second, the girl found herself face down on the floor, one of her arms up and behind her back and the hard body of Thomas pressing hers harder into the gym mat. Isobel shocked herself with the breathy little moan that puffed from her. 'I should be fighting! I should be impressing him with my wily escape skills!' But her forehead was pressed against the mat, every inch of her skin on fire from touching his. the hard planes of his chest and stomach pushed into her spine, his hand firm on the one above her head and the other trapped between their bodies. When his free hand reached up and pulled sharply on her ponytail, Isobel let out another one of those shameful gasps. Out of nowhere, she remembered a trip to the London zoo where a male tiger was mating with the female, firmly biting her neck to hold her still, the female's body frozen under his. Their flushing tour guide hastened them past the exhibit, but Isobel never forgot that intensity- the raw power. It took her a moment to realize Thomas was speaking, his amusement clear.

"Darling. You're supposed to be fighting back." He quickly pulled off her, turning his back to control himself. This year had changed his lovely doll so much- those high cheekbones coming into sharper focus, her body stronger and leaner from her ballet and Lacrosse. She was so very close to the vision of his grown-up Isobel- it was becoming more and more difficult to hold back. And her response! Thomas groaned, remember her instant submission when he'd subdued her. Casually taking a towel to dry his hands, he kept it in front of the tent in his gym shorts. 

Getting to her feet, Isobel hung her head. “I’m sorry, Thomas, you took me by surprise, and…”

“And what?” He questioned.

Finally looking up, she stared into his eyes, hers glinting emerald green in the afternoon sunlight. “I know you’d never hurt me.”

An internal groan suddenly escaped his lips, and his face began to change, suddenly settling into a cold, expressionless mask and polar blue eyes that told her nothing. “Is that right, little girl?” Thomas began circling her again, closer this time as she felt the hiss of his breath on her neck. “What makes you think that a nice boy chatting you up at club can’t turn into someone who’d snap your neck in an alley on the way back to the hotel-” His thick arm came around her throat then, and Isobel yelped fearfully, her whole body stiffening as his long fingers suddenly slipped past the hem of her tights, “Subduing you in order to shove himself inside you- use you and leave you bloody and beaten?”

Isobel felt her entire body shake, goosebumps sprouting madly and her breath coming in anxious little gasps. She should be terrified right now, she should be head-butting him and showing Thomas that she wasn’t weak- the way everyone thought. But all she could do was stand there in that silent gym, feeling his calloused fingertips slide down her abdomen, sliding gently just over the lace of her panties, rough pads sliding back and forth, back and forth… Her head dropped onto his shoulder, and a dark grin crossed his face, knowing she couldn’t see it. “Poor darling,” Thomas soothed, “how would you save yourself from someone who wanted to take everything from you? Who wanted to own your body, your spirit, even your freedom?”

He could smell the heady scent of fear pouring from her, but Thomas had to hold himself back from burying his face in her neck to breathe in more of the arousal mixed in. “I- I…” Isobel couldn’t think, couldn’t even move, just feeling his fingers so close to sliding inside the silk and lace of her underwear, the muscled forearm making breathing a little difficult. “It’s because it’s you, Thomas,” she finally wheezed. “You won't. You won't hurt me.” Cautiously, not even understanding herself, Isobel leaned into his arm, feeling it press tighter against her neck.

Suddenly, the pressure released, and Thomas stepped back, his face an expressionless mask again. ""I'll get one of our female instructors to teach you next weekend. Why don't you bring your friends and have a group lesson?"

Voice a little raspy from his grip, she shakily nodded. "Thank you. That- that would be nice."

 

That night Isobel dreamed of him again. This time, Thomas didn't stop when his fingers slid down, moving into her panties and finding her clit, running it between two fingers and pulling on it, chuckling as her back arched violently. The other fingers slid up and down her wet slit, gathering her wetness to make the hard little button slippery. Her thighs closed tightly against his hand until his long legs kicked hers apart as he settled her on his lap, leaning back and forcing her to drape her legs over his as he continued playing with her. "Do you ever do this yourself, little girl?" The vibration from his deep voice went down her spine, making the girl twist against those hard, knowing fingers. "Sliding those pretty fingers of yours along this silky kitty? Do you picture me doing it for you? Showing you all the lovely, dirty things you can do to yourself? Give me your hand." His wet fingers drew her shaking ones down the flat planes of her abdomen, bringing them through her swelling lips, making her feel the sensitive slit between her clitoris and her channel, teasingly forcing her to dip inside with his bigger fingers pressing down on hers. “Such a good girl,” Thomas purred, taking her hair in his other hand to pull her head up. “Open your eyes and watch.”

Isobel sucked in a shocked breath at the sight of their hands together on her pussy, his thick fingers against her slimmer, pale digits. She could feel something hot and thick pressing insistently against the small of her back, Thomas idly rubbing it against her. “This is how you make yourself come, babygirl, but never without Daddy’s permission.” His fingers began sliding up and down the silky slit he’d been guiding her through, pausing to circle teasingly around her entrance and up to her clit, tapping and pulling on it slightly harder than was comfortable. He forced her fingers to stroke with his, pushing harder against her protruding bundle of nerves, making Isobel whimper and try to pull away. His other arm crossed between her breasts, grasping one shoulder and holding her motionless. Her thighs tried to close against the intensity of the feeling roaring through that part of her, but Thomas merely chuckled and whispered to her, “Daddy wants you to come. Right now. NOW!” Suddenly, he slapped her clit sharply with two fingers, and with a startled shriek, the girl obeyed him, legs trembling and other hand grasping blindly for his thigh. Thomas continued to rub her slowly, extending the orgasm until she was so sensitive Isobel begged him to stop. “Such a good girl…” he whispered against her sweaty cheek, “Daddy is so proud of you.”

Bolting upright in bed, the girl looked around her bedroom wildly, clutching her sheet. Isobel could swear she’d heard Thomas’s voice in her ear. _So_ sure. Swinging her legs over to the floor, she made her uncomfortable way to her bathroom to tidy up and find some clean undies. She’d had many sexy dreams about Thomas since that first one in the bathtub- but nothing like this! So vivid that she’d come in her sleep. What was happening to her?

 

“Hurry up! Move it, you lazy cows!” Her irritatingly perky friend Mollie was spitefully jumping up and down on everyone’s beds between the two connected rooms. They'd flown in late last night and flopped in bed immediately. While the girls all planned to stay at a youth hostel recommended by another friend  Isobel’s parents suddenly handed her reservations at the Hotel Adler Madrid the day she left.

“It’s safer,” Bridget said, trying to sound casual. “We won’t have to worry about you coming home with bedbugs, or about boys bothering you.” Knowing perfectly well the reservations were made by Thomas, Isobel ignored her sinking stomach and took the papers.

Yanking on Mollie’s foot to make her fall off the bed with a yelp, Isobel laughed. “First to the bathroom!” She slammed the door shut on a speeding Carla, gloating over taking the first hot shower in the heavenly marble stall big enough to hold all of them. As the morning passed, Isobel could feel all the dark thoughts and the nameless anxiety that had been plaguing her fall away. The girls laughed and giggled, oo’ed and ahh’d in stores where they could afford absolutely nothing. Looking down at a exquisite cashmere dress in palest green, Isobel sighed. “So soft…” she mused, touching the sleeve.

“It would look amazing on you,” said Mollie, staring over her shoulder at the gorgeous thing.

“Ladies,” the sharp voice of the storekeeper broke in. “Unless you are planning to buy that dress, please do not touch it.” Feeling like her hand had been slapped, Isobel quickly drew back and left the shop arm in arm with Mollie. Primping and sliding on their colorful sundresses, the four girls headed out that night, giggling with excitement as they took an Uber to the Moncloa and Argüelles party district.

Proudly showing her ID that proved she was now, indeed 18, Isobel smiled at the bartender, who made a fuss over her. “This pretty girl is 18!” He shouted at the rest of the bar, making her blush. “A drink on the house, chica caliente!”

Laughing, Isobel took her drink, clinking her glass with the other girls. “To 18 and freedom!” Carla shouted, and they threw the contents of the glasses back. Gulping, Isobel winced as the alcohol burned down her throat. She’d had a small glass of wine with special dinners before, but she’d never had hard liquor before tonight. “Another round, por favor!”

“I don’t know…” laughed Isobel, “it might put me to sleep, and I’m hoping to dance all night!”

“One more won’t hurt you, huh?” A deep voice to her left made her turn her head, a shaggy blonde was smiling at her, his friends clustering around the other girls. “Steve,” he offered, giving her a friendly nudge. “I’ll get one, too.” Slamming the glasses back down, the group moved on to the dance floor. Feeling pleasantly buzzed, Isobel raised her hands over her head, humming as she closed her eyes and spun rapturously. All the joy of dancing came back to her, and she wove in and out with her friends and the Americans. All the heat and the exercise sent them back to the bar after an hour, and Isobel drank another two shots, sweet-tasting ones that seemed to go down so much more easily. 

Steve was so _nice_ \- he was really funny and joked about wanting to run with the bulls down in Pamplona- until they realized they were 3 months late for the festival. Turning to head back to the dance floor, she stumbled a little, and Steve grabbed her around the waist. “Hey, Izzie, you okay?” Laughing, he half hoisted her to walk her with the rest of the group.

“I hate that nickname,” she mumbled, but it was too low for him to hear it. ‘That last shot was a mistake,’ she thought vaguely. Her balance was off and Steve was holding her more tightly than she liked. ‘Thomas held you like this,’ she reminded herself, but that was different, that was...Thomas.

“Darling, are you drunk?” ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear,’ the old Bible verse popped up in Isobel’s sleepy brain as she turned sharply.

“T-Thomas?” She gasped, “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, I suspect,” he answered crisply, staring down Steve, who was nervously pushing his long bangs back.

“Oh, no,” she answered earnestly, “this is Steve, he’s an American.”

Thomas was so close to her, gently crowding her away from the uncomfortable surfer dude. “Hey, man. Are you like, her dad?” Steve was trying to re-angle and reach Isobel, whose eyes closed.

'Oh, _God_. He did not just say that to Thomas…’ she groaned internally. He was also pushing his luck, because while the Vice President of the Corporation was 34, he looked closer in age to the American surfers, though far better dressed. Head tilted curiously, Thomas leaned forward, making Steve stumble back.

“Move. Along. Boy.” The three words in his most deadly voice penetrated the beer-soaked brain of the shaggy blonde, and he waved awkwardly at a mortified Isobel.

“Uh, see you around, Izzie.”

"I'm taking you out of here," Thomas said crisply, running his arm along her waist and moving for the exit. Isobel stubbornly dug in her heels, looking over her shoulder at her three confused friends. 

"No- Thomas, no! I'm here with my girlfriends, I can't leave them!" Isobel gulped as his polar blue eyes turned to glance down at her.

"Give me your phone," he ordered, putting his hand out. She obeyed, smiling weakly at her friends as they drew closer. Thomas was tapping a message to Carla and pushing send as they clustered next to Isobel.

"Is everything all right?" Asked Mollie, sneaking peeks over at the man who was looking his most intimidating.

"Everything is fine, darling," Thomas soothed in his most authoritative voice. "I've sent a contact number to Carla. Just phone the driver when you're ready to come back to the hotel and he'll meet you wherever you are."

The girls nodded and smiled, still looking back to Isobel. “I’ll just head back with Thomas,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Better than throwing up on your shoes, right?” Giving them a quick hug, she felt Thomas put his arm around her shoulders and steer her to the door. One inside, there was a black BMW waiting for them at the curb, Isobel allowed him to fasten her seatbelt as always. “How- What- Why are you here?” She asked, frustrated and still embarrassed. He was looking out the window, cold and composed.

 “How many drinks did you have, darling?”

 Looking down at her lap, Isobel said, “Four, but we were dancing and burning off the alcohol and-”

 “Have you ever had anything stronger than wine before?”

 “No,” she mumbled, feeling less like a glamorous adult and more like a child again.

 He sighed, taking her hand. “Did you notice that boy was rubbing up behind you?” Isobel frowned. That wasn’t correct, Steve was holding her waist, right? “Do you know how quickly someone could take advantage of you in that position? He could have had you out of the club and in the alley before your friends knew what was happening. Do you think those self-defense lessons would have come into play after four drinks?”

 She felt even more like a child as her eyes filled with tears. Looking down at her hands clasped in her lap, Isobel shook her head. One of his warm hands moved to grasp hers, squeezing gently. Back at the Hotel Adler Madrid, Thomas quickly ushered her to the lift, taking the little cast-iron car to 3 floors higher than hers. “This...isn’t my floor,” she sighed, still obediently following him down the plush hallway.

Opening his door, Thomas looked down at her confused face with a gentle smile. “I’ll take care of you, babygirl.” His words were calm, even kind, but Isobel shivered. Naturally, his suite was gigantic, far bigger than theirs, even though her school friends thought their rooms were palatial. Helping her briskly through the huge drawing room, he handed her a water bottle as he filled the elaborate claw foot tub with warm water and bubbles. "Drink that, darling, it'll make tomorrow's hangover less unpleasant."

Taking off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves, he tested the water and then stood, holding out his hand. Swaying just a little, Isobel shook her head, “Can you, um, leave? I’ll just do this…”

“No, babygirl,” Thomas put his huge, warm hands on her neck, smoothing them down her shoulders and bringing the little straps of her sundress with them. She’d not worn a bra that night and Isobel’s hands raced up to cover herself. Gently peeling them away, he shook his head. “You must never hide from me.” The words, his voice- they were identical to the dream that roared back to her full force. Shivering, Isobel began wondering in her tipsy state what was a dream, and what was reality. Gracefully kneeling, Thomas removed one sandal, and then the other, running his hand up the back of her calf, enjoying her little shiver. Standing before him in only a little pair of panties, she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t grabbing a towel to cover herself- especially when he reached up to slide down the scrap of lace that was her last protection. Sliding one rough thumb up her slit, Thomas smiled at her shiver and moan, taking his thumb away and sucking on it, looking into her widened green eyes. “Your eyes,” he said, helping her into the tub. “They’re the color of the Caribbean tonight. So translucent, darling. I feel like I could dive to the bottom of you.” Enjoying her corresponding tremble, he smiled and began to wash her back, soaping the soft sponge and running it over her smooth skin. Isobel shivered again. No one had ever touched her like this- those sure, warm hands covering her and soaping her breasts next. ‘They’re not as big as her mother’s,’ Thomas thought, but he preferred her little B-cups, firm and pink and so...sweet. He leaned down to capture one nipple in his mouth, enjoying his lovely doll’s gasp, her feeble effort to pull away. “Close your eyes, baby,” he soothed, “Daddy will take care of you.” All the confusion in Isobel’s mind solidified abruptly into a chilly horror, hearing him use that word. It- it was only in her dreams, right? He’d never called her that before…

Lifting her from the tub as easily as a bottle of shampoo, Thomas carried her into the bedroom, standing the girl before his huge bed as he carefully dried the bubbles from her skin as she stared at him. “What...what did you say in there?” Isobel’s voice was small.

“What do you mean, darling?” Thomas lifted her and put her in the middle of the bed, spreading her hair out over the pillow. His voice was always so beautiful- she thought despairingly, so deep, perfect elocution and unfairly reasonable, as if anyone else’s opinion was simply illogical.

His hands were on either side of her face now, his body arched to straddle hers in the middle of the soft sheets. “You…” Isobel frowned, gathering her courage. “You called yourself Daddy.”

“I will be your Daddy,” he soothed, kissing down her jawline, following it to her mouth, “I will love you, and care for you. I will take care of all your needs. You will be my precious, perfect doll.” Before she could argue with him, his hot mouth suddenly attached to her breast and Isobel found her hands burrowing into his thick hair, tightening her nails against his scalp as he grazed his teeth over a tender nipple. Her hands clenched in his hair again as Thomas slid lower, finally coming to rest with his stubbly chin over her silky mound. "Are you ready, babygirl?"

"Wh- For what?" Isobel asked desperately, still trying to unravel how she'd ended up naked, on her back in the hotel suite of a man who was supposed to be in London.

"I'm going to make you come, sweetness. For the first time...except perhaps aside from your dreams." Her shocked gasp told him everything he needed to know, and Thomas fastened his whole mouth over her pussy, giving it a luxurious, open-mouthed kiss as his sweet doll keened in shock, moaning as his lips and teeth traveled from her swollen lips to Isobel's tender clitoris, his calloused fingertips circling around her opening. It didn't take long to drive her to her first orgasm, his teeth lightly scraping her clit. Her hands gripped his shoulders as her back arched painfully. Nor for the second, assisted by his thumb and forefinger gently jerking on that fleshy pearl while his tongue jabbed up into her cunt. And the third, where Thomas used his fingers, his mouth right by her ear to whisper how beautiful she was, how perfect, how Daddy would always take care of his little girl.

 

 

 


	5. Come To Daddy...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is deflowered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this moment to be worth the wait...for all of us, for Thomas, even for Isobel. Because despite being a sociopath, Thomas wants this to be a pleasurable moment for Isobel to look back on. Thank you as always for reading.
> 
> OH!!! my dear misreall has the next chapter up for "The Road To Hel Is Paved With Misunderstandings." It's beautiful. And heartbreaking. And impossible to stop reading: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8591122/chapters/21689555

For a moment, Isobel panicked when she woke up, not recognizing the room and not awake enough to remember she was in Madrid. It was right at that moment when Thomas walked out of the bathroom, fitting a cuff link. Seeing her white face, he veered instantly for the bed. "Are you all right, babygirl?" His big hand came up to smooth her hair back, and for the first time since they'd met all those years ago, Isobel backed away from his touch. His blue eyes narrowed, but Thomas deliberately, slowly, moved his hand again to cup the back of her neck. His eyes dropped to the sheet clutched against her chest. "Do you remember what I told you last night?" Despite her obvious shock, Thomas was having a hard time not yanking that sheet and his zipper down at the same time and plunging into her. But one did not rise to the head of an organized crime empire without iron self-control. "Do you?" He prompted.

"W- which part?" She managed, pushed up against the headboard defensively.

A devastatingly gorgeous smile curved his mouth, his eyes half-lidded with lust. "That you must never hide yourself from me, darling." Thomas yanked the sheet away from her with one pull, ignoring her startled yelp. His hands easily caught hers as they fluttered to cover herself, deliberately stretching them wide as he looked her over. His doll was exquisite, the pale, unblemished skin, those perfect pink-tipped breasts, a little waist just perfect for wrapping his fingers around while plunging into her...

"Please, Thomas!" Isobel groaned, nearly in tears with shock and humiliation. Last night still had an otherworldly feel to it- like a long, incredibly erotic dream that left one dazed even after waking. But in the crisp sunlight shining through the sheer curtains, his cobalt gaze on her was terrifying. "Please..." Her voice faded as his gaze left her breasts and returned to her eyes.

"Please, what, darling? Please kiss your splendid breasts again, like last night? Please bite on your wet pussy lips? Please suck your clitoris into –"

“Stop!” Tears were welling her sea green eyes now, and Thomas took pity on his doll.

“Darling, I know this feels overwhelming to you,” he soothed, kissing one of her hands, allowing the other to pose awkwardly over her bare chest. “But, this is everything we’ve been waiting for, you and I.”

Isobel’s brow furrowed, “You mean, you wanted to...this was…”

“Making you mine in every way? Yes, darling. Of course.” Thomas agreed, still running his lips lightly over her knuckles.

“S- wait, since when?” She asked, those huge eyes still staring up at his impassive ones.

Thomas smiled then, a warm and caring smile that he’d used to soothe her so many times before. Leaning in close to kiss just under her ear, he whispered, “Since the first moment I saw you- standing there in your little white dress in the rose garden.” He watched the realization drain the blood from her face, leaving Isobel speechless and sheet-white. “Now, darling, lay back and Daddy will-”

Isobel surged up on the bed, rolling to her left and off the mattress, dragging the sheet with her. “You are NOT my Daddy!” She shouted, voice shaking with fear and rage, “You’re _not!_ This was- this was all a _game_ to you? You were never my friend?” Somehow, this was the thing that broke her, and Isobel burst into hopeless sobs, shoulders shaking as she clutched her feeble cotton defense to her breasts.

Something like sorrow crossed over Thomas’s face, and he moved quickly, picking her up and sitting in the big chair by the window with Isobel on his lap, rocking her gently. “Shhh...darling, hush now. I was _always_ your friend. Even if I’d never wanted you as mine, I would have been your friend.” He pulled her hair, wet from her tears behind her ear, tenderly smoothing it. “Watching you grow up into such a talented, intelligent young woman? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He kept rocking her, murmuring loving nonsense until her sobs quieted.

“You were? You were my friend, even without the...the other things?” She surreptitiously wiped her nose on the sheet before daring to look up at Thomas.

“Sweetness,” he assured her, “always. I have never lied to you.”

“But this- I- I don’t know what you want-” Isobel felt her center warming as Thomas stroked one rough hand against her arm. The heat rose to her chest as she remembered coming over and over on his fingers, lips and tongue last night.

"Now, darling. You know exactly what I want." His voice had dropped an octave to a low, greedy tone that made her toes curl. "I want all of you, every beautiful perfect inch. I will nurture you, care for you. You will go to Cambridge and become the brilliant, talented woman you were meant to be. But you _belong_ to me. In my bed, with my cock inside you." Isobel began shaking again, and Thomas squeezed her lightly, warningly, "You're a very bright girl. This can't surprise you, especially since I know you feel the same."

Isobel, agitated, tried to rise from his lap, shaking her head. "No! That's not-"

Pulling her impatiently against his hard chest, Thomas growled as he slid one hand between her thighs, stroking against her pussy, tickling her clit. "Stop. You will not lie to your Daddy. You're nearly dripping against my fingers, little girl."

Shaking her head while realizing her hips were already greedily moving against his fingers, Isobel groaned in humiliation. 

Thomas rapidly shifted her into the position she remembered from her filthy dream...resting on his lap with her legs draped open over his, leaning against his warm body. “Wait- I don’t-” she moaned, trying to stop the helpless movement of her pussy against his lightly stroking fingers.

 “You don’t...what, darling?” Thomas purred in her ear, his hateful amusement clear as those rough fingertips just barely brushed her swelling lips, her clitoris peeking hopefully from under it’s flesh cover. “Do you know what happens to this part of you when we play?” Grinning against the helpless shake of her head, he continued, “The blood rushes to your pussy, making these tender lips thicken-” he pinched them as she let out a squeal, then returned to stroking barely-there circles around her clit. “-and your precious clitoris swells, licking against my fingers in a greedy way, trying to gain more pressure. Do you feel that, my angel?”

“Mmmm...I...it’s so….” Isobel was trying to force more than single syllable words from her mouth, but every part of her was suddenly focused on those teasing fingers, her hips shyly trying to lift and gain more pressure.

“No!” She squealed in shock when Thomas slapped her tender clitoris. “You will not move unless I give you permission, do you understand?” He heard her make an angry, grumbling noise and slapped her wet lips, enjoying her corresponding yelp. “Do you, babygirl?”

 Isobel’s head pressed wantonly against his muscled shoulder. She wanted to run out of his suite. She wanted to slap Thomas across his smug, handsome face. But more than anything she wanted those hard, knowing fingers to make her come again, the way they did last night. “Yes…” she barely managed to whisper.

"Yes, what?” His voice rumbled through his chest and through her delicate skin. Those fingers began sliding up and down from clit to her channel, circling teasingly, occasionally dipping inside.

 “Oh…” Isobel groaned, “yes, please Thomas?” He chuckled, but continued his finger-play.

 “No, that’s not the right answer.” Those circles began to slow, and she shook her head, trying to put her hand down over his. Thomas lightly slapped her hand away, ignoring her pleading whine. “Yes, what? Tell Daddy what he wants to hear.”

 The fingers moved from circling to patting very lightly over her stiff clitoris, then pausing. “Yes...yes, Daddy?” She asked hesitantly, so quietly Thomas barely heard. His fingers abruptly scissored her clit between them as his other hand slid down to dip a finger inside her.

“Ah…” he barely breathed, “there you are.” Isobel shuddered as she realized he meant her hymen, his fingertip lightly brushing against the thin barrier inside her. "It will be such a pleasure to tear through this. To finally be inside you, little one." Looking down at her parted lips, her breath coming faster, he began circling her clit harder while stroking inside her, pressing lightly against her walls, seeking something...

"OH!" Isobel arched against Thomas, clutching his thigh.

"Here we go, now..." he purred into her ear, "here we go..." One hand rose to play and pluck at her nipples as the other continued rubbing against her clit, his long forefinger playing with her entrance, lightly scratching it, slipping inside and teasingly back out. Feeling her legs begin to shake, Thomas bent to capture her mouth, licking her lips before ordering, "You will come now, babygirl. Daddy demands it of you." And just as Daddy demanded, Isobel gasped gratefully and came against his hand, slicking him to the wrist with her come as she moaned and shook.

"What happens now?" Isobel's voice was small, watching Thomas clean her with a warm cloth. Those beautiful eyes flickered up to hers, and he smiled darkly. 

"You will enjoy the rest of your holiday with your friends. You will have no more than one drink at a club. You will come home alone. You will not allow another man to touch what is mine. And you will not come again until I give you permission." Finished with the washcloth, Thomas tossed it into the bathroom and rolled his sleeves back down.

"But...after that- when I come home?" She forced herself to continue, watching him slide her panties back up her smooth legs. 

Thomas pulled her to her feet, then lifted her to look her right in the eye, her feet dangling helplessly. "You will enjoy the last month of school. Then, I will take you home and make you mine. Completely."

"You'll..." Isobel swallowed against her dry throat, not able to look away from him.

"You want it spelled out?" Surprisingly, Thomas broke into a light chuckle, setting her down again and putting on her sandals. "I intend to fuck you. I intend to tear open your virginity and make your cunt shape around my cock. I intend to be your Daddy in every. Possible. Way." Kissing the tip of her nose, he zipped up the back of her sundress.

"But, my parents-" Isobel tried to look brave, "they won't let you! You don't think they'd object to me moving in with you?"

To her horror, his laughter was loud, harsh this time. "Darling," he caressed her cheek. "Who do you think gave you to me?"

 

 Isobel stumbled back to her room after numbly accepting a goodbye kiss from Thomas, who held her chilly face in his hands for a moment. "Remember what I told you, little one."

She managed to nod. "Yes."

His hands tightened, just a bit against her jaw. "Yes, what?"

Licking her dry lips, Isobel whispered, "Yes, Daddy."

"Where have you been!" Carla nearly shrieked at her as she let herself into the room.

"Sorry! Sorry, I was in Thomas's room- I got- I got sick and spewed everywhere. It was disgusting. So he cleaned me up and I guess, well, I passed out and just woke up a while ago."

Carla was watching her, frowning. "But...you only had four drinks."

Shrugging nervously, Isobel turned away from her friend and changed into clean clothes. At breakfast, she repeated the story. While the other girls laughed and continued to fill Isobel in on what happened with the Americans the night before, Carla watched her best friend, doubt refusing to leave her.

 

"Doesn't that man look familiar?" Mollie's voice startled Isobel out of her endless thoughts of what would happen when she graduated.

"What man?" She turned to look, following her friend's gaze to a man casually looking over the produce on the other side of the open-air market where they were getting lunch. Isobel recognized him instantly, "Oh, that's one of the custodians at Benenden, remember? He was always around, fixing-" the sandy-haired man raised his eyes to stare steadily into her widened ones before turning away. The realization felt like a slap in the face. How many people did Thomas have looking after her? Spying on her?

Mollie shrugged, ripping another piece of lamb off her kebab. "Ah. Looks like everyone's on holiday." 

Isobel sometimes felt as if she was standing back and watching a copy of herself play the part of a carefree girl on holiday. They still went out dancing every night, and she was careful to limit herself to one drink. The girl refused to flirt with anyone, making certain that it was crystal clear that she was going to bed in her hotel room alone. Sighing happily as the pilot announced their descent into Heathrow, Carla turned to her. "One more month of studying, then freedom!"

Forcing herself to smile back, Isobel echoed bleakly, "Freedom..."

 

Never had a graduate of Benenden been so grateful for the brutal round of testing for her A levels in the 30 days leading to the end of 6th form. Isobel fell into bed exhausted every night, hoping to be too tired to dream. But still, the sure hands and beautiful voice of Thomas haunted her sleep, and she'd wake sometimes, hips still writhing, looking for something to help her finish, to let her come. Remembering Thomas and his cold expression as he warned her not to disobey, the girl would moan and rise for a shower as cold as she could bear. The final day of school moved closer and closer, time seemed to speed up against Isobel's wishes for a moment- just a moment to stop and _think_. Waking that morning to see her white gown hanging on her closet door, the girl felt an end- an inevitable movement to adult life that she was powerless to stop. "Is!" The hall monitor knocked on her door. "Your flowers are here!" The tradition for Benenden's Leaver's Assembly was to wear a circlet of flowers with their white dresses. Parents would send the arrangement, but Isobel know the moment she opened the box who they came from. Carefully lifting the fragrant crown, she read the note attached. 

"Hibiscus" - delicate beauty

"Jasmine" - grace and elegance

"Lilac" - first love

"Tuberose" - pleasure

"White Rose" - purity

"Red Rose" - passion

Daddy is so very proud of you. TW

 

"In conclusion..." Isobel gripped the sides of the podium, looking out at the sea of faces. Her parents were there, she knew, and Ari. But when her eyes managed to focus, it was on the laser-blue intensity of Thomas's handsome face. "In conclusion, I'm inspired by the words of Arthur Shopenhauer, who knew the inevitability of fate. But he said "It's our strength that makes the difference: fate gives us the hand, but we play the cards." She couldn't hear the applause, still staring into the eyes of the man who now owned her. But he smiled and nodded, mouthing, "well done, darling."

After much hugging and kissing and the taking of many pictures, Isobel was finally drawn from her friends by her parents and Thomas. He patiently endured being introduced to a stream of giggling students, and a few teachers who simpered in the same girlish fashion. Isobel kept her arms around her brother until Ari brushed her away. “Bugger off, sis! Quit hugging me like I’m a baby!”

Isobel laughed, and hugged him even harder. “Don’t forget, I’m your big sister and I can still take you. So just give up and accept the love.”

Ari rolled his eyes good-naturedly and hugged her back. “Darling?” Isobel shuddered as the deep, beautiful voice of Thomas was right next to her. Reluctantly letting go of Ari, she turned to look up at him. “It’s time to go.” For one second, she really thought her parents might question him, irritably ask Thomas who he thought he was, and that it was their night with their daughter- but a look at her parent’s averted eyes killed the last hope that they hadn’t sold her.

It was Ari that broke the awkward silence. “What do you mean? Aren’t we taking Is out for dinner? Mum?”

“Oh, Isobel and Mr. Williams have plans tonight, dear. We mustn’t keep them waiting.” Bridget refused to look at her daughter, who was still waiting for the moment where they’d magically turn back into human beings. As Thomas’s hand grasped her arm lightly, Isobel forced a smile and hugged her brother one last time.

“I’ll see you soon, Ari.” Confused, he smiled back and watched Thomas lead her away, wondering why his sister hadn’t said goodbye to their parents.

Less than an hour later, Isobel was looking out at the lights of London, squinting just a bit to see the Eye. Thomas’s flat was magnificent, just as she’d expected, and he ushered her in with a kiss on her temple, gently lifting the crown of flowers from her head. She startled as he put a cold glass of champagne in her hand. Looking up at him, she asked, “What are we toasting, Thomas?”

“To fate, of course.” He smiled back, the harsh light from outside slanting against his face.

“To fate,” Isobel repeated obediently, raising the glass to her lips. Thomas took the bottle and her hand, leading her into his bedroom. Creamy white walls against dark wood wainscoting, with polished floors cushioned by beautiful oriental rugs. The bed was appropriately huge and imposing, made of carved black wood with high posts. The linens were a rich cream with a deep grey cover. Staring out the floor to ceiling windows, she barely felt him unzip her white dress, letting it fall to her feet.

“I do enjoy the symbolism of freeing you from your flowered crown and virginal dress,” Thomas chuckled almost tenderly. He turned Isobel and cupped her cheek, forcing her to look up at him. 

“I will spoil you and care for you, sweetness. I do not intend to hurt or shame you. Do you understand?” Isobel’s head swam. There was so much she didn’t understand. But Thomas had never hurt her- not really- and as terrified as she was of what was to come, she was in her heart of hearts relieved that it would be happening with him. So, she lowered her eyes and nodded, but his hand pulled her chin up again. “Do you understand?” He repeated.

“Yes...Daddy,” she managed, looking into that handsome face. Thomas smiled and held her face between his big hands, carefully kissing her as if she was the most delicate thing in the world, as if touching her too harshly might break her. His tongue slid between her lips, enjoying her startled gasp, stroking over her teeth, then teasing the sensitive tip of her tongue with his own. Standing back just a bit, he broke the kiss, forcing her eyes to open.

“Unbutton my shirt.” Isobel’s hands rose to obey him, carefully slipping each button loose on the fine cotton shirt. “Take it off me.”  Smoothing it over his wide shoulders, her fingers explored the defined musculature here, stroking his chest. “Good girl, taking care of Daddy.” The girl shuddered, hearing the dark approval in his voice. “Now, the trousers.” Isobel’s small hands pulled his belt free and then shakily unbuttoned his pants, sliding the zipper down. Kicking off his socks and shoes with the pants, Thomas was suddenly nude- his beautiful body perfectly illuminated in the moonlight. “Good girl,” he praised, “and now you, little one.” Isobel remained still as he shed her pretty matching bra and panty set, something else she’d discovered under the flower crown in the box that day. His smile told her Thomas was pleased with her. His calloused fingertips trailed over her breasts, the soft skin of her stomach and stroked over the curls above her center. “Perfect,” he barely breathed, leaning down to capture a nipple between his lips, enjoying Isobel’s helpless moan. While playing between one nipple and the other, he easily lifted her, carrying her to the bed and laying her out, arranging her long hair over the cream pillows, pulling the covers back from hiding her body. Hovering over her, Thomas blocked out the light from the windows- as if he was the only thing her eyes could see. “My beautiful, perfect doll,” he said lovingly, “who am I?”

Isobel didn’t even think about the answer. “You’re my Daddy,” she answered, still staring up into that shadowed face.

“Such a good, good girl…” he breathed, sliding down to lick at her until two thick fingers could slip inside her easily. Isobel tried to look down to see him- see what Thomas looked like after feeling that bulge pressed against her all these times, but he gracefully moved between her legs and lifted her chin. “It won’t hurt for long,” he assured, “all right? Once inside you, I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

“Oh- okay- ah!” Isobel gasped. He was BIG. No wonder Thomas wouldn’t let her look because the hard thing pushing inside her would have made her close her legs, but the hot, wide length of him kept pushing, pushing harder until she felt something tear, warmth slicking his way against the pain. ”You s-said it wouldn’t hurt for very long,” she wept, trying to pull away from him.

Kissing the tears sliding down her cheeks, Thomas kept pushing, holding her hips still as he slid to the top of her- stopping when there was simply nowhere else for him to go. Pausing, he purred into her ear, whispering appreciation and compliments, filthy promises of how good it would feel when he finally stretched her enough. And when her tears stopped, that thick thing inside her began moving again. He felt her hands dig into his back, trying to grip something to steady herself. Thomas pulled her legs up against his hips, and took her hands in his wider ones, linking their fingers and pulling them over her head. “Try to relax, sweetness, this is the part you’ll enjoy.” As much as she hated to admit it- hated him- Thomas was right. It still stung and burned, this invading cock of his, but it scraped along her wet walls and slid along nerve endings that lit up eagerly, waiting for the next pass to heighten the feeling. His warm breath and the movement of his lips against her ear made Isobel shudder, her back arching and pushing her breasts against the dusting of hair on his chest. “Does it still hurt, my sweet Isobel?”

She gasped as another pass of his cock brushed against something that made her thighs tighten around him. “Not so much,” Isobel admitted in a whisper, pushing her hips up in hopes of feeling that spark again. 

 Thomas helped her by sliding a hand under the small of her back and lifting her against his thrusts, sliding in and out more quickly as Isobel became wetter to help him. “There’s a good girl,” he approved, pushing harder inside. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could, trying to limit the overload of sensation inside her. She shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, right? This wasn’t...she didn’t want this...but he felt so good. She’d been waiting so long…

“OH!” The moan burst from Isobel as Thomas placed his thumb against her clit, rubbing carefully in firm circles.

“You’ve been such a good girl, waiting for me, just as I told you to.” His thumb began moving faster in the same rhythm as his cock inside her, making his babygirl whimper, clutching more tightly to him. “You deserve to come, my darling,” Thomas approved, “so you may do so, sweet girl. Right. Now.” His mouth captured most of one breast and sucked in sharply as his thumb on her clit and that thick cock inside her began a furious pressure that was too intense to resist. Back arching like she’d been electrocuted, Isobel let out a grateful, blissful scream and came for Thomas, then again, and once more until she was crying again and he was coming with her, promising that she was his good girl, that he would make her come every single day, just as hard as this.

 


	6. An Uncomfortable Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel discovers the hazards of disobeying Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for dubious consent.

Isobel woke the next morning disoriented for a moment by the feeling of being crushed by a boulder. Thomas had fallen asleep inside her after waking her early in the morning by sliding into her from behind, lifting her leg over his as he whispered beguilement and compliments- distracting her from the pain as his cock slid home again. Too exhausted to do anything about it, Isobel lay quietly as Thomas’s unfairly talented fingers began sliding around to her front- tugging on her nipples and playing idly with her clitoris. This time, he gently pulled her into an orgasm, rather than dragging her kicking and wailing into the three he’d given her the night before.

 But here she was, watching the sunlight slant through the crack in his sumptuous charcoal curtains, hearing the city begin to wake. “I know you’re awake, darling.” Isobel shivered a little to hear Thomas’s deep voice in her ear, his lips moving against it in a kiss. “How do you feel?”

 “Um...a little sore,” Isobel admitted. She was lying, of course. The girl’s body felt battered- as if she’d played eight games of Lacrosse and then danced “The Nutcracker” in the same afternoon.

Knowing fingers slid down her stomach, pressing gently just above her pelvis as Isobel groaned involuntarily. “You don’t complain much, do you, little one?” Thomas pulled her over to lay on her back, propping his head on one hand as the other smoothed over her skin.

 Isobel solemnly shook her head. “It doesn’t change anything.”

 His brows drew together for a moment as Thomas looked down at her. “So stoic. Come, let’s put you in the tub.” To her embarrassment, he scooped her off the bed and carried her into the bathroom, filling the sleek white tub; a huge chunk of marble hollowed into an egg shape. Isobel awkwardly tried to cover herself as the water ran, crossing her legs and hovering her arms over her breasts. Thomas was brazenly nude, walking back and forth to gather his running gear and put bubbles in the tub. Giving her a knowing look as he piled her hair on top of her head, Thomas said, “Have you already forgotten, sweet doll?” Putting her arms down and standing up, Isobel shook her head looking up at his amused expression. Brushing a kiss over her lips, he murmured, “There’s my good girl.” There was something greedy, so possessive about the way he spoke to her that she shivered violently. “Here, get in the bath. You must be chilly,” he helped her step over the side into the tub, much deeper than she was used to.

“This...tub,” she said, watching him pull on his running shoes, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Hand-carved from a 2 ton chunk of carrara marble,” he shrugged, yanking a shirt over his leanly muscled chest. “I ordered it carved deeper and longer than usual, so that it would be comfortable for two people with very long legs to fit together.” Thomas kissed her lightly, but Isobel felt a chill- he’d designed his _bathroom_ with her in mind? How long ago?

“How long have you lived here?” She was resting her head on the back of the lovely, swooping surface as he gazed down at her.

“About 3 years.” Another chill rippled down Isobel’s spine, but she forced a smile. “I’m going for a run, darling. I’d invite you along, but I suspect that for today at least, that would be extremely uncomfortable. I won’t be long. Why don’t you make breakfast when you’re done here?”

A little surprised that he was leaving her unguarded, Isobel smiled wider and nodded. “All right. Do you like omelets?”

“That’s fine, darling.”

“Um, enjoy your run then, Thomas.” He paused, his broad back to her and then turned around slowly.

“What do you call me, babygirl?” Isobel hated that stare, the one he used for breaking her down when she was trying to hide something from him.

“T- Thomas?” She sank lower in the tub as he walked back to her, all lean grace and still threatening, though there was a half-smile on his face. One big hand slid over her breasts and up her throat, his thumb stroking her carotid artery, then pressing lightly.

“What do you call me, my lovely doll?” His voice was so deep- still pleasant but with the edge of a warning growl.

It clicked then and Isobel hastily said, “Daddy?”

That beautiful smile spread over Thomas’s face, the one that radiated approval and pride for her. To Isobel’s shock, she felt a desperate surge of gratitude to him.“Such a good girl…” he tenderly kissed her, then left the room. She found a neatly folded stack of clothing for her on the bed- jeans and a jumper she recognized from her wardrobe at school, along with a tiny, lacy set of undies she’d definitely never seen before. Cracking eggs into a bowl and slicing vegetables, Isobal worked mechanically as she looked around the huge flat. It was even bigger than she’d thought last night- it likely covered this entire floor of the building. Putting bacon into another pan to brown, she suddenly pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. This was insane- she couldn’t be _owned_ by Thomas, could she? Isobel’s heart began pounding faster and as her breath stuttered, the doorbell to the flat rang. Whirling to look at the huge walnut door, she nervously wiped her hands on her jeans. Would Thomas have forgotten his key? She couldn’t imagine him forgetting anything. Nonetheless, she inched over to the door, peeking through the spy hole.

 

The man outside was brunette and handsome, but shorter than Thomas, with thick lips and keen brown eyes. They suddenly darted to the hole, as if knowing she was standing there. “Williams!” His jaw set. “Open the bloody door- I’ve got better things to do than play errand boy for your ungrateful arse!” He irritably held up a brown folder.

Isobel bit her lip- Thomas didn’t say anything about not answering the door. And this was obviously a co-worker… Carefully undoing the deadbolt, she opened the huge door. “About time, you lazy bastard! Do you think I’ve got all day for-” The beautiful girl nervously standing by the door made him stop. “You’re not Williams.” A broad, warm smile spread across his tanned face. “I’m Tom Harding. You’re a...friend of Williams’, I gather?”

The first genuine laugh bubbled from Isobel’s mouth in...weeks. “I suppose so.” She held out her hand shyly, “Isobel Cameron.”

Harding’s brow furrowed. “Alistair Cameron’s girl?” He watched the smile drop from the girl’s face as she looked away.

“Did you need me to give that to Thomas?” She reached her hand up, but Tom looked past her.

“Is something burning?” He brushed past her as she groaned internally. Thomas would not like this.

He didn’t. Isobel and Harding looked up from the kitchen counter where the man was chopping more mushrooms. “Williams!” He greeted his furious co-worker, cheerfully waving a knife, “Breakfast is nearly ready, mate!” Meanwhile, Isobel was hastily making her way to Thomas.

"Darling…” He murmured warningly, “you invited a stranger in?”

Her green eyes were wide and anxious. “Tom- he- well, he had some papers for you, and he-”

“Tom?” He growled, turning his head, “We’re on a first-name basis?”

“Bacon’s burning!” They both turned to see Harding pop a slice in his mouth, grinning innocently.

 

Breakfast was a strained affair. Thomas and Harding stared each other down over bites of egg and cheese while Isobel picked at her food. “Soooo,” drawled Harding, “how did you two lovebirds meet?”

“Did you say you had some paperwork for me?” Thomas was cold, but composed. 

Harding chuckled, popping a last grape between his full lips before rising and grabbing the folder, handing it to the other man.

“The Protocol File from Number One,” he said blandly. “He wanted to be certain you had it before your...meeting on Monday.” Thomas snapped the paperwork from his hand, setting it on the granite counter.

“Thank you, Harding. I’m sure you’re very busy today, so…” He could see by the taunting grin that Tom was perfectly happy to stay and torment them, but when Thomas leaned forward with a growl just barely coming from his chest, the other man chuckled and stood up.

“I’ll leave you two to enjoy your...weekend,” he grinned, standing up and putting his jacket back on. “Isobel, a pleasure. I must look up your father at the office and let him know what a lovely girl he has.” Those sharp brown eyes watched her flush and tighten her lips, then he nodded and left with the air of a man who’s accomplish a full day’s work.

The door firmly shut and locked again, Thomas turned to Isobel, still standing anxiously by the big walnut farm table. She realized his eyes had turned to a polar blue. “Why don’t you clear up the breakfast dishes while I take a shower, darling?” She nodded rapidly, beginning to take plates off the table as he left the room, already pulling off his sweaty clothes. She forced herself to put the plate lightly into the dishwasher, worried that her shaking hands would drop it. Just as the last of the pans were rinsed and drying, she heard his beautiful voice from the bedroom. "Isobel. Come here, please." The girl shuddered. She didn't understand these new rules. Should she run? Maybe try to beg for forgiveness?

Walking into the bedroom, she found Thomas sitting on the corner of the bed, buttoning up a white Oxford shirt over blue jeans. He held up his hand to her. "Yes, Thomas?" Isobel attempted a smile, but his eyes stayed that same terrifying frigid color. 

"Come sit with me." Nodding, Isobel nervously seated herself next to him on the bed, trying not touch him. Nonetheless, Thomas took her hand, holding it between his. "You opened the door for a stranger." 

"I- he was said he worked with you- and he got into your secured building. I thought-"

"You didn't. Think." Isobel's mouth shut with a snap. She could feel the warmth of his breath along her cheek. "He could have been anyone. Someone who got in, planning to hurt you. You wouldn't know, now would you?"

"No..." her admission came out in a whisper.

One rough hand lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You have no idea..." Thomas took a deep breath, "you have no idea who to trust. There's many people perfectly happy to hurt you in order to get to-"

"To what?" Isobel knew she interrupted him, but the whole conversation seemed so surreal. Suddenly, the image of the maintenance man/spy in Madrid came to her. 

"It doesn't matter," his voice became even colder, more impatient, "it was foolish, and you know it. I shouldn't have been required to tell you not to do such a thing."

Isobel's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, I should have thought..."

"I'm going to have to punish you, babygirl. I'm very disappointed in you." Thomas suddenly pulled her over his lap, her head dangling down and her feet kicking helplessly against his other leg. Isobel gasped as she felt him unbutton her jeans and roughly pull them and her new undies down her thighs.

"Thomas! Stop! I'm not a baby-" The first slap across her ass was thunderous. Isobel shrieked. She'd never been struck, not even as a child. "Ow! Don't-"

His hand came down again, on the soft skin of her thighs where they met the curve of her bottom. "Stop whining, Isobel. Let me be clear. You will count each slap, and you will thank me for it."

"No! You can't spank me like I'm a 5 year old!" she began fighting against his hold, mortified that she was bare-assed up on his lap. 

But it seemed that he could, because Isobel yelped as as his wide palm landed over her sore bottom again.

“Are you prepared to obey me?” Thomas’s voice was implacable. “I’ll continue until you start counting, and then it will be 15 from there.” Isobel choked on a sob of fury. How dare he? He wasn’t her Daddy! No matter what-

“OW! Stop, Thomas!”  She gripped his thigh, trying to steady herself. Another painful strike, and her leg kicked up. Then another. Isobel’s ass was on fire- she could feel the burn of it inching up her spine.

She could feel the heat of his hand over her sore skin, hovering. “Are you ready to behave?” Gulping back an angry sob, Isobel nodded.

“Ah!” This one seemed to hurt worse, his big hand hitting both cheeks. “One, thank you D-daddy.”

Those rough fingers of his stroked over her ass. “Good girl.”

“Two! Daddy...thank you.” Her voice was wavering, but Isobel refused to cry in front of him. Not _him_.

The next was one directly across her exposed slit, and this time Isobel did shriek. “Keep counting, babygirl.” His low, resonant voice was still composed.

“Three...mmm...thankyoudaddy.” She was clutching his leg now, tears dripping upside down and off her nose. “Ow! Four! Thank you daddy.”

The slaps kept coming, some one right after the other, others after he stroked her fiery ass and to Isobel’s horror, her wet slit, occasionally sliding between her lips. She was crying so hard it was harder to keep count, but she managed “Thir- thir- thirteen thank you daddy!

“Fourteen thank you daddy.”

The last of the spanking was a quick one, then Thomas uprighted her as a shaking Isobel was still trying to stammer the fifteenth “thank you.” Then, he held her, rocking the girl back and forth until she stopped crying, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

That’s a good girl…” he wiped her wet face with a towel and laid her on her stomach. Then she heard a bottle uncap and Thomas was spreading a cool lotion on her blistered bottom and thighs. He chuckled fondly as she gave a little moan of appreciation as the liquid numbed the sore area. Isobel was beginning to slump in relief when his fingers began sliding along her lips again.

“What are you _doing_?” She hissed angrily, trying to wriggle away from him.

“You’re not done,” Thomas said coldly. “Your punishment isn’t finished.”

Isobel tried to turn over, “But you said-” Suddenly, she was gripping the silky sheet with both hands as he slid two fingers inside her. “Don’t!”

“Shhhh…” he said soothingly, still stroking his hand along her, then dipping one finger, and another inside her. “You’ll feel better after coming.” When Isobel tried to scramble loose, his heavy arm slammed down over the small of her back, pinning her in place. “Move again without permission darling, and it will be another 15 strikes.” Her forehead dropped to the silky cover as Thomas moved his fingers faster inside her, stroking a thumb over her slit, brushing lightly back and forth. “Just relax, darling.” Isobel hated herself, she hated him- especially since she was beginning to enjoy it. She could feel her pussy begin to moisten, her walls clenching against his hard fingers. And when her hips began moving with the movement of his hand, Isobel knew she’d lost. “So sweet,” he mused, “so slick, pushing those greedy little hips against my hand. You want to come, don’t you, babygirl? I imagine if I pushed just a little harder against that eager clit of yours, you’d go off, wouldn’t you? Clenching against my fingers, trying to suck them into that eager cunt.” Isobel groaned, his hand was moving faster against her, his thumb pressing down with firm taps against her clit. “Are you ready?”

Isobel was desperately gripping the sheets, trying to keep quiet, not to give up the last of her dignity to this man- this monster who owned her. But that ruthless tapping against her sensitive spot… “Oh…” She moaned, trying to shut up. “Please, could you-”

“Could I what, little one?” His voice was maddeningly calm, reasonable.

“Please, please make me come, Daddy!” And with a light chuckle, Thomas pressed in just the right way to send a pulse through her pussy, making her channel spasm against his fingers and a rush of wetness turn his fingers slick, and shiny. Gently pulling her through her hard-won orgasm, he gently stroked her hair with the other hand, soothing “There’s a good girl. Daddy’s good, sweet girl…”

 


	7. A Night At The Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is charmed. And Thomas is charming. And medically responsible.

 

* * *

The following week was utterly surreal to Isobel. Thomas effortlessly slipped into the alien notion of living together with an 18 year old he’d just deflowered. For Isobel, each day she would wake up, assuming that reality would somehow intrude and she’d be back in her bed at her parent’s house- _not_ home, she would never call it that again- and planning a day to meet her friends or spend time with Ari.

 Instead, there would be a long, beautiful body next to- or often on top of- her, his calloused fingers idly stroking up and down her skin. Thomas would usually tease and toy with her until she was a panting mess and would open her legs for him on her own. They’d take a run together, and he would refuse to allow Isobel to bathe first, so she’d feel his seed trickling out of her, making her panties wet, and once to her mortification, down her leg. He’d taken her to a gynecologist on their second day together, standing out like a sore thumb in his Savile Row suit as pregnant women stared at him longingly. Isobel was grateful that the receptionist whisked them back immediately, so she didn’t have to see the disapproving stares. It hit her, the moment they were first out in public how clear the difference was between them- not even necessarily the age difference, since Thomas looked very good for 34- but the contrast of his utter confidence and exquisite suits, and her: hair up in a ponytail, flipflops and a casual sundress. The girl was uncomfortable being the center of attention at the best of times, but the judgemental stares from women and the leers from men...she _hated_ it.

 “When was your last period?”

 Shaken out of her reflections, Isobel flushed, “I’m sorry. You wanted to know…?”

 The nurse smiled, eyes darting from Thomas and back again. “Your cycle, dear? When did you have your last one?”

 Isobel looked down to where Thomas was casually holding her hand, fingers linked. “A week ago,” she answered barely above a whisper. Talking about her cycle with an overly-friendly nurse while this man watched with an amused smile? This was surely the seventh circle of Hell. She was saved from more humiliating questions by the arrival of the doctor.

 “Not to worry, Marlene, I’ll get her medical history while I examine her. Isobel, I’m Dr. Carruthers, how are you?” The woman was tiny, barely coming up to Isobel’s shoulder with dark hair streaked with gray.

 “I’m well, thank you,” Looking awkwardly at Thomas, she added, “This is my- this is Thomas Williams.”

 “Doctor,” he said smoothly, offering his hand, “thank you for seeing Isobel so quickly.”

 The tiny woman shook her head, “Certainly. Can’t shake, already in my gloves. Why don’t you take a seat outside, Mr. Williams?”

 Seeing his dark brows draw together, the doctor sighed impatiently. “I need to conduct a thorough physical, including a pelvic exam. I’ll have the nurse place a chair for you just next to the room if you don’t wish to go to the waiting area.”

 An amused smiled spread over his face, ‘touche’, doctor,’ he thought. Kissing Isobel’s cheek, he murmured, “I’ll be right outside if you need me, yes?”

 Nodding gratefully, she even gave him a genuine smile as he left the room. “You must be very close.” Dr. Carruthers kept a calm, non-judgmental tone, but the girl cringed a little. “Here,” the older women continued, “please change behind this screen into your gown and we’ll have a nice chat, shall we?”

 Isobel pulled off her sundress, reluctantly peeling down her undies. She’d visited an ob/gyn before, but now that she was sexually active, it felt even more unconfortable.  Would the woman ask intrusive questions? Humiliate her? Walking back out, she sat on the examination table, nervously twisting her hands.

 “I take it you’ve become sexually active?” The doctor’s tone was still even.

 “Yes, uh, just last night.”

 “Did you use protection?”

 The blood drained from Isobel’s face. “No, we- uh, we didn’t.”

 “Mmmm, hm. I’ll write you a script for the morning-after pill. Any health concerns? Allergies?” The little woman continued her calm line of questioning as she eased Isobel back and gave her a gentle examination. “You may sit up, dear. You’re a very healthy young women. My suggestion would be a contraceptive shot. You’d return once quarterly and that would reduce the risks of forgetting a daily pill, or the condom tearing-” The girl nearly gave a nervous giggle, remembering a health class where they’d practiced applying a condom on a banana. The banana and the enormous reality of her new lover’s dick were two completely different things.

 “That sounds like the best option, thank you,” she said instead, moving back behind the screen to dress as Carruthers wrote out the prescription and readied a syringe.

 Before placing the needle into Isobel’s arm, the doctor paused for a moment. “Isobel,” she said evenly, “this room is soundproofed. We had it constructed that _way_ to reassure our patients that they can tell us anything- anything at all without fear of being overheard.” She could see from the girl’s wide green eyes that she understood. “Do you have any concerns or questions about anything we have discussed today?”

 Isobel thought for a moment, She understood what the doctor was trying to ask her, and she was suddenly struck with gratitude that she would be concerned enough to ask. “No, doctor. I’m comfortable with your suggestion of contraception. I’m relieved for the morning-after pill, I’m not usually this careless-”

 Dr. Carruthers smiled, squeezing her hand, then applying some rubbing alcohol, cleaning Isobel’s skin for the injection. The shot was done in an instant and a plaster affixed to the site. “Do you have _anything_ you want to tell me, Isobel?” The doctor gave her one last chance, eyeing her keenly.

Isobel thought of her parents looking away from her at her graduation ceremony. She thought of the barely-contained lethality she sensed in Thomas. She thought of Ari. Shaking her head firmly, she smiled at the woman and stood. “Not a thing, doctor. Thank you for taking such good care of me.” 

For whatever reason, Isobel felt like she’d been given a choice- perhaps for the first time ever. She chose between trying to explain the convoluted, exhausting tangle of love and betrayal and fear to the doctor, and simply choosing to belong to Thomas. ‘At least for now.’ she thought as he looked up with a smile when she came into the hall.

 

The next hurdle was the self-defense lessons. Thomas was insistent that Isobel continue to study under the hard-faced woman who’d taught her and her cowed friends some simple maneuvers before they went to Madrid on holiday. ‘Ironic,’ Isobel thought with a rare moment of bitterness, ‘that he insisted I learn to protect myself from everyone but him.’ Simja Dunaj was a former Israeli paratrooper. The first time the girl had to face her again was only a few days of being with Thomas, and most of her body still ached.

“You’re back.” The words from Simja’s tight lips were not in the slightest bit welcoming.

Isobel smiled weakly, tying her long hair up in a tight bun. “So it would seem.”

The sinewy form of the Israeli moved around her. “Why are you here, girl?”

Without even thinking it through, Isobel’s eyes narrowed. “My name is Isobel,” she emphasised, “and I’m here to become stronger. If you don’t like me and don’t think you can teach me, just tell me now and stop wasting my time and yours.”

For a moment, the woman in front of her almost seemed to swell, and she wondered if the former soldier would pound her into a pulp. Then, Simja’s grim jaw softened. Just a tad. “Very well. Let us practice those flips I taught you last time. You were terrible.”

Hiding her smile, Isobel turned to the soldier. “I’ll get better.”

It was just after she’d showered in the Corporation’s women’s dressing room when her phone buzzed. “Darling. Look in the locker. I’m taking you out tonight.” When the girl opened the steel door, she was somehow not surprised. The pale green cashmere dress that no girl turning 18 could possibly afford was hanging there, along with exquisite undergarments and makeup.

“My God. i thought I’d expected...you’re beautiful, sweet girl.” The light in those cerulean eyes was enough to make her dip her head and blush. Thomas was so beautiful himself, in a perfect black suit and the blue tie she’d given him as a Christmas gift last year.

“Um…” Isobel tried to think. This night could be perfect if she could just remember… “Um, thank you, Daddy?”

The slow, dark smile spreading over the Second in Command face showed Isobel she’d made the right decision. “Come, babygirl, I need to make you eat, first…”

When Thomas mentioned eating, Isobel naturally assumed he’d take her back to the flat and fuck her senseless. Instead, after a decadent meal of Dim Sum, (her favorite! Isobel marvelled, he remembered!) he escorted her to the Jaguar and they pulled up in front of the Royal Opera House. He grinned boyishly to watch her eyes widen. “Thomas! Are we- Is this- Omigod! Is this “Carmina Burana?”

Laughing openly in for the first time he could remember, “Yes, sweet Isobel, it is. I thought you might enjoy it.” He was mildly surprised when his girl eagerly rose to tiptoe to place an exhilarated kiss on his mouth.

“Thank you! I never- how did you get tickets to opening night?” She gasped, looking back at him as she pulled him up the marble stairs. Thomas was laughing, his beautiful head thrown back. Isobel suddenly had a savage urge to _bite_ his neck- to _mark_ him so everyone knew- 

He ushered the girl into a private box, enjoying her joyful gaze as she looked around her eagerly. “My sweet girl,” Thomas asked, “surely you’ve been to the Royal Ballet before?”

Isobel glanced at him, too excited to feel self-conscious. “Oh, yes. Twice for an afternoon performance with my school dance company.” He watched her look happily around the cavernous hall. Knowing her love for ballet, Alister and Bridget _never_ brought her here? As her expression turned rapturous as the lights dimmed and the stage curtains opened, Thomas decided to have her parents killed as soon as it would not be traumatizing to her, Taking her warm little hand in his, Second in Command in the Corporation settled back to enjoy the performance, blue eyes focused on his beautiful Doll the entire time.

 

 


	8. Meet The Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a malevolent Number One and a murderously jealous Southerner are introduced. Also, fingering at the ballet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, my lovely and delightful friends! Hope your day was filled with one of a million different variations of love- not just the shit the greeting card companies sell us. A big fat kiss to you all!

 

Thomas glanced down with an indulgent smile as Isobel was glowing and chattering about the ballet at intermission. “And then as they begin 'Chramer, gip die varwe mir,' the movement there is so complex, the combination of-”

 “Thomas Williams, as I live and breathe, darlin’ how are you doin’?" The voice behind them was loud and decisively American southern. Thomas turned just in time to receive a long and enthusiastic kiss from a woman with flaming red hair and utterly luscious curves. Isobel, feeling slight and small-busted next to this siren stood quietly, pretending she was invisible. It was a trick she'd learned at home. “Ah just flew into London, and aren’t you are a sweet sight!” People are them were glancing over at the creature’s loud voice, but Thomas seemed unphased.

 “Magnolia, how are you? Here on business, I presume?” His handsome face was set in his “professional” lines- Isobel had seen it enough to know this wasn’t an old friend.

 Drawing a hand slowly across her generous and well-displayed breasts, Magnolia purred, “Hopefully Darlin’, business and pleasure.”

 Blinking in mild astonishment that the American was actually hitting on Thomas as she stood next to him- clearly his date- Isobel felt a small flush of irritation, but there was something off about this woman that made her stay silent. Unfortunately, Magnolia’s malignant gaze was on her next.

 “An’ who is this sweet little thing, Thomas? I didn’t know you had a lil' sister.” There was a hard glitter in those brown eyes that made Isobel suspect Magnolia knew quite a bit about the man who had his hand on the small of the girl’s back.

 “No, she isn’t my sister,” he offered blandly, then smiled as he began guiding Isobel away. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the board meeting this week, Magnolia. Enjoy your night.”

 Magnolia was not yet finished with Thomas, “Looking forward to it, darlin’!” She not-quite shouted after them, “An’ your sweet little friend, too!” A shudder went through Isobel at the tone of the woman’s farewell.

 “An old friend of yours?” She asked shyly, wondering why Thomas didn’t introduce them. This relationship was by his command, after all.

 His face was back in cold, impassive lines as he looked down at her. “No one for you to be concerned about, darling. Let’s get back to our seats.”

 “Did you two, um date for a while?” The minute the question slipped from her pink lips, Isobel knew she’d made a mistake. His hand tightened on her arm for a moment, then Thomas stilled them as he looked down.

 “I’ll say this only once, little girl. When I have made it clear there are to be no more questions, there will be no. More. Questions.” He watched her huge green eyes widen in alarm. Good, at least his pet learned in a hurry. “You will not make this mistake again.” Isobel nodded rapidly at the end of his sentence as his brow lifted impatiently. “Use your words, darling.”

 “Y-Yes, Thomas. I understand.”

 His expression suddenly changed and he gifted her with a warm smile. “That’s my good girl.”

Leaning back to watch her rapt expression as the dancers came on to the stage, he smiled, enjoying the sheer, unaffected joy that such a small thing gave her. His smile thinned, as Thomas spotted the malevolent American in a box across from theirs. She was watching them, paying no attention to the stage. Isobel jumped as Thomas’s warm hand began sliding up her leg. Nervously tightening her legs together, the girl bit back a squeak as he gave a sharp pinch to the thin skin of her inner thigh. Swallowing hard, she allowed him to push her knees a little wider as his hand slid up further. Looking back and forth, she was relieved to see the box was high enough that no one could see his movements closer and closer to her warm center. Still watching the stage intently, he leaned closer and murmured, “Relax, pet. Be a good girl and let Daddy play with you. Just watch the stage.”

 Isobel’s breath caught in her throat as his fingers began gently prodding against her panties. Looking up at him imploringly, she swallowed to clear her dry throat and whispered, “Please, Thomas...someone will see…”

Leaning forward to kiss her cheek, he told her, “Not if you’re my good girl and stay silent. Now behave.” And so Isobel did. At least she tried to, attempting to pay attention as the dancers segued into “Amor volat undique,” gritting back a whimper as one long finger slid under her panties, stroking idly up and down between her lips, gently parting them to tease between her opening and her clit, gathering moisture to tickle along the sensitive pink path. Thomas enjoyed watching the emotions darting across Isobel’s expressive face- too young to hide anything. A sweet flush began rising up her cheeks and one of his fingers dipped slowly into her channel, sliding easily up, rubbing gently against her clutching walls. A gasp left her lips when he added another finger, mimicking the movements his cock took inside her this morning. Leaning close, Thomas merely looked like he was whispering into his date’s ear, a pleasant look on his face as if discussing the next movement in the program.

“My sweet, dirty little girl...taking my fingers up your pussy so well, just the way you take my cock. I can feel you squeeze against my fingers, trying to keep them inside you.” He blew lightly on the sensitive skin on Isobel’s neck, watching her breath come faster. “I wonder what all these well-dressed people would think if they knew this sweet, lovely girl was being fingered like a common whore-” at this, an agitated squeak burst from her, eyes widening in shock at Thomas’s filthy language. “Shhhh…” he whispered, “you don’t want anyone looking over here, darling. They can’t see my fingers fucking into  you, but your tender nipples are diamond hard and pressing against that soft dress." He chuckled lowly as she involuntarily looked down, giving a tiny whimper as she realized he was right. Thomas casually pulled her long hair over her shoulder to drape down over her heaving chest. 

Isobel was so very close to breaking. It was only her natural shyness and horror of “making a scene” that had kept a lid on her behavior to this point. The utterly appalling scenario of being fingered by this man- at the ballet!- and even worse, her body responding to it was causing sweat to bead around her hairline and making her thighs shake. “Thomas- please, please you have to stop- I can’t...mmmm...pl- you must stop!” She looked up at him with those big pleading eyes and he nearly relented- except for the fact that he knew that loud-mouthed Southern bitch was watching angrily, and that nothing tasted as sweet as this girl after he’d made her come.

Tenderly brushing his nose over her flaming cheek, Thomas purred into her ear. “I will stop as soon as you come for me, babygirl. Be my good girl and come around my fingers, drip on my hand and I’ll stop.” Cruelly, his fingers began to speed up, and Isobel felt that rough thumb of his begin tapping on her clit. Pressing her lips together, she thought of anything else- calculus, broken toes, that time her roomie at Benenden threw up on her after six cherry cokes and vodka. But the poor girl couldn’t help herself, and a small moan bubbled up.

Thomas casually held up his other hand, pretending to look at the printed program. “Careful, sweet girl. This is just between us. No one else needs to know how tightly your sweet cunt is gripping my fingers. I’d give my Jaguar just to have my cock being clenched inside you right now, feeling just like how you’ve got my hand right now…” The dam broke and Isobel came, to her shock. She didn’t even have time to register mortification because the orgasm setting her nether regions on fire was sending tiny shocks all the way down her legs, making her toes point helplessly. The diabolical man continued to gently stroke her through the orgasm, still pretending to look at the glossy paper program to hide her face and her pitiful little gasps. When Isobel finally slumped back, weak and heart pounding, Thomas turned his attention to the stage again, casually pulling out his pocket square from his black suit and slipping it to her. “Tidy yourself, babygirl. You don’t want a wet spot on the back of your pretty dress, do you?” He smiled pleasantly as Isobel gave a humiliated little noise and did as he told her to.

The rest of the performance passed by in a blur for Isobel as she tried to calm down, hands still shaking. When Thomas reached down during the closing curtain to straighten her wet undies and give her sensitive clit a pat, she nearly came out of her chair. Graciously guiding her hand to his elbow, the couple moved down the stairs. He finally took pity on the girl and asked her questions about the ballet to try to calm her as they left. Isobel mourned her bad luck as they ended up squeezed in the queue to leave right next to that loud-mouthed redhead who'd been more or less attempting to fondle Thomas at the intermission. Magnolia wasn't nearly as effusive at this meeting, glaring at Isobel and then making a tight-lipped smile to Thomas. "Don't you forget now, Thomas! Ah'd best see you at the board meeting!" Just as the couple was about to make their getaway down the marble steps, he grinned evilly and turned back to the redhead, patting her cheek with the hand that had been inside Isobel. He could see by the enraged narrowing of her eyes that she could _smell_ it. 

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Darling..." he added mockingly.

 

When Thomas turned the car in the opposite direction of his flat, Isobel looked at him curiously. "Aren't we going back to your place?"

"I believe you mean our home, don't you, darling?" His tone was perfectly even, but she sat up straight, knowing he expected an answer.

"I meant, um, our place, Daddy." As she'd hoped, that crucial last word made him glance at her briefly with a smile. 

Sliding one hand up her smooth thigh, Thomas idly ran one finger under the hem of her dress. 

“I'm picking up some papers at my office. I need to get some documents signed before a meeting tomorrow.”

Isobel was a little excited. Her father had never taken her to where he worked, even when he’d been transferred to work the department run by Thomas. She’d only been there two or three times in the gym for those self-defense lessons, and she’d never seen where Thomas worked. Right in the middle of the financial district, the 25 story building had an intimidating granite front. Pulling into the underground parking lot, Thomas was waved through three different parking guards before pulling into his reserved spot by the elevator. “Your security is certainly impressive,” ventured Isobel. “I wouldn’t think you’d need so much at night, when the district is so quiet?”

Taking her hand to pull her into the lift, Thomas gave her a bland smile. “The Corporation never sleeps, darling. We do business all over the globe, much of it sensitive. Security is always an issue.” Isobel nodded and smiled, wondering how much she could ask about what he did. Over the last four years, whenever she’d tried to ask him about his work, he’d smoothly changed the subject, telling her instead about his travels, and the places his business would send him. The lift soared up floors to the top- ‘of course,’ Isobel thought with a new cynicism. The doors opened to a huge entry- very “old school” British; walnut wainscoting, soaring ceilings and beautiful old oriental rugs on polished wooden floors. The entire floor was taken up by a gigantic boardroom and three huge offices, fronted with stylish entry sections guarded by receptionist desks. The 18 year old immediately felt out of place. The place reeked of power, even darker and silent at this hour. Pressing a complicated security pad- the high-tech engineering looking a bit surprising with the gracious surroundings, Thomas let them into his office. Isobel wandered over to look out the huge floor to ceiling windows and gasped.

“The view here- Thomas, it’s beautiful!”

Looking at the dress dipping low on her toned back and the light catching the glints of blonde in those cascading curls of hers, Thomas felt the stir in his groin. “Yes, it is,” he answered huskily.

Isobel froze. She knew that tone. It was usually followed by most of her clothes pulled off and being vigorously pounded by that gigantic cock of his on the closest level surface. His hands came up on either side of her, his warm front pressing lightly against the bare skin on her back. Resting his chin lightly on the top of her head, he kissed her temple. “There’s been many late nights, or deadly dull meetings where I’ve fantasized about fucking you against these windows, all of London bustling on below you as I made you come, over and over.” He could feel her cheek heat up against his neck and started chuckling. “I rather hope there’s never a time when you stop blushing, pet.” One hand slid down the glass to rest against her stomach, those clever fingers beginning to inch up the short hem of her dress. 

His body pressed hers harder against the glass with a startling swiftness when Isobel attempted to squirm away.

“Thomas- please! Everyone can _see_ us-”

“Not at all,” he soothed, running the tip of his tongue up the pulsing artery in Isobel’s neck. “This glass is very thick- bullet-proofed, in fact- and one way only. We can see out…” He pushed the top of her dress off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. “...but no one can see in.” Her pretty cream lace bra was next, followed by her panties. Isobel was painfully aware that she stood in front of his window completely naked, while he remained fully dressed, the fine wool of his trousers brushing against her bare ass. His big hands traveled slowly up her waist and ribs, as his mouth bent to her ear. “Just imagine,” he crooned, “all the city going about their deadly dull business as you and I stand over it all, pressing your exquisite body against the cold glass, tightening those sweet, pink nipples and hips pushing against the window as I fuck you from behind?”

Isobel shivered helplessly. It wasn’t even the filthy things he said to her- not just that- it was how Thomas _said_ them, in that deep voice of his, with his perfect elocution and resonant tone. It was the voice of Shakespeare reading the poetry of the Devil. She could hear the soft sound of his zipper lowered, one hand pulling his cock out while the other slid between the swollen lips of her pussy. “Ah…” he breathed, licking her earlobe, “still soaking wet from coming on my hand in the most deliciously whorish way at the ballet. Such a dirty, naughty girl.” She made a small, angry noise of protest, and Thomas chuckled, pushing her more firmly against the glass. “Now don’t make a fuss, babygirl. We both know how much you like to ride my fingers. But now, I’d like to bounce you on something a little bigger.”

With that, Thomas thrust into her, almost brutally, pushing firmly until he was scraping painfully against her tender cervix, not pausing as he usually did. “Oh! OH!” Isobel yelped, nearly knocking her head against the glass from the force of his thrust. "It hurts- you're bigger, or- OH!"

It was as if he didn't hear her, though Thomas did snake one hand around to capture her hard little clit between thumb and forefinger, pulling it and twisting the slippery bundle. "Do you know, babygirl, I can feel the little points of your womb brush against the tip of my cock when I fuck up into you? Your wet walls, all silky and trembling?" His chin dropped on to her shoulder as his strong arms held her higher by her waist, lifting her up and down on his shaft. Still terribly sensitive from her first enforced orgasm at the Royal Opera House, Isobel's traitorous pussy was already beginning to tighten, more slick making his shaft plowing through her move more easily. The soft skin of her ass was becoming chafed, rubbing against his open zipper, feeling his loose belt buckle tap relentlessly against her hip. Thomas groaned, and she knew he was close too. "I'm going to tug on your little button three times as I push into you," he grunted. "On the third, you will come. Do you understand, my sweet slut?"

"Yes, I-" Isobel was temporarily robbed of speech, her orgasm roaring down on her like a dam had broken. 

"One." She felt the sharp pull against her delicate pearl.

“Two.” His hips snapped up against hers so hard it knocked her overheated pussy against the cold glass.

“Thomas! Oh, god…” She gasped, forehead falling against the window. She could see his reflection behind her now, his eyes blazing a vivid azure, and jaw clenched with his near explosion.

“Three,” he ordered gutturally in her ear, and with a wail, she obeyed him, back arching and her ass pushing against those narrow hips of his. Isobel could feel the heat of him rushing through her channel, still nearly raw from several days of enthusiastic poundings. She groaned, gripping at his thigh for balance as she shook and clenched against him. Finally setting her back on her feet, Thomas pulled himself from her, both of them groaning a little. Carrying a trembling Isobel and seating her on a nearby leather sofa, he walked into his adjoining bathroom to wet a cloth and tidy her, looking up with those knowing eyes of his as he pulled her undies back up her legs, helping her with her bra and dress and grinning as she tried to fix her wildly disordered curls. Finally tidy, Thomas looked her over carefully, then picked up his briefcase. “Let’s go home, darling.” He paused to lift her hand to his lips. “My delicious, irresistible darling.”

Shutting his heavy office door behind them and hearing the electronic locks engage, Thomas was about to tease Isobel again when the huge door to their left opened suddenly, lighting slanting out into the darkened hall.

“Williams? I thought I heard you. Come in and meet Mr Pashar, our new-” The tall bald man stopped abruptly when he spotted Isobel a little to the side and behind Thomas. Looking into the room, she spotted the dark and distinctly leering face of a man before the bald man shut his door quickly and stepped out into the reception area. “Now, now. Is this the young lady that Harding was telling me all about?”

AIsobel could feel Thomas’s broad back stiffen at the mention of Harding, but his face was expressionless as he said calmly, “No doubt, the man is a more dreadful gossip than a bar filled on Hen’s Night. Darling, this is Marc Strong, CEO of the Corporation.”

Just looking at the man’s glittering black eyes was sending a chill down Isobel’s back. The man looked like one capable of doing terrible things, and enjoying every minute of them. Finally noticing he had his hand out, she smiled and placed her fingers in his ice-cold ones. “A pleasure, Isobel. And the daughter of one of our executives! Keeping it all within the Corporation, eh, Williams?”

“Not intentionally,” Thomas said smoothly, drawing Isobel away from Strong in a way that looked natural. “But you will be seeing more of her, I’m sure, Number One.” The message was quite clear, and Strong’s brow rose as his ebony gaze ran over the girl again.

“Looking forward to it,” he said thoughtfully, making Isobel suddenly feel like she’d been dipped in an ant hill. His nostrils suddenly flared, and she was humiliated to realize that she and Thomas smelled of sex- practically reeked of their carnal games against his window. Flushing in shame, she forced a smile as she backed towards the elevators.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Strong,” she said, forcing a polite smile.

“Oh, dear,” he said in that gravelly voice, “call me Marc. We’re practically family now.” Isobel prayed the closing elevator doors concealed her shudder as she and Thomas headed back down to the parking garage. Finally back in the Jaguar and heading in the direction of home, Isobel suddenly remembered a phrase from her technology class: Vantablack.

“The darkest material known to science,” her professor had said, “the material is so black, it absorbs all but 0.035 percent of visible light, which means to our eyes, it is borderline invisible.” Looking out the window at the city, Isobel was certain that Number One’s eyes were surely made of Vantablack.

 


	9. Rules and Regulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is punished. And rewarded. Sort of. And makes a discovery.

 

Isobel was used to rules. She grew up in a household smothered in them. Beneden was notorious as one of the strictest schools in Great Britain. But navigating the minefield of Thomas’s requirements was an entirely different thing.

“Call me Daddy” Surprisingly, not too hard. She’d never called Alistair anything other than father, so there was no squirm-inducing parallel there.

  
“Never answer the door. For anyone.” She’d learned the hard way about this one.

  
“Keep the flat spotless.” This one was a bit more difficult. Isobel was by nature a tidy person, not wanting to give her parents a reason to be angry at her. But while her new lover had a housekeeper- a grim Polish woman who came thrice weekly- the girl was expected to keep everything in perfect order, just as Thomas did.

“Isobel, come here, please.” Eyes darting up from her laptop, she rose immediately and walked into the bedroom. Thomas was standing by the bed, in his trousers with his dress shirt unbuttoned. “What is this?”

Puzzled, she looked around until she realized she’d left her lacy black nightie on the bed, forgetting to put it in the clothing hamper after pulling the covers straight. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll just get rid of that-” His big hand reached out to snare hers as Isobel turned to the closet.

“It’s too late for that.” His eyes had turned a chilly slate blue, and the girl shivered in spite of the warm June sun streaming through the windows. “I was quite clear in what I required from you, and you’ve chosen to ignore that.”

“Thomas, I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry I for-”

Crisply plucking the nightie from her hands, he loomed over her. “That’s two, such a bad girl.” With a yelp, Isobel found herself turned around and bent over the bed. With a quick twist, she found that Thomas had bound her wrists together with the lace gown. “You must learn, baby girl, that disobedience comes with a consequence.”

“Really! I didn’t mean to disobey- AH! OW!” Her protest was cut off by a ruthless slap across her ass, protected by her thin jersey sundress.

“That’s three.” Thomas chided her coldly, flipping up the little dress and yanking down her panties. “You forgot to respect our home by keeping it clean. One.” The next strike was on bare skin, and Isobel yelped, trying to struggle loose. “That’s four. Would you like to add any more transgressions to the list?” Her shoulders were shaking, but Isobel sullenly shook her head to the negative. Squeezing her red bottom in an un-gentle fashion, he fisted his hand into her thick hair and turned her face up to look at his. “Now, let’s begin.”

Her tear-stained eyes widened. _Begin?_

“What was your first transgression, darling?” She could feel the warmth of his broad palm just hovering over the reddened skin of her bottom.

Sniffing, Isobel answered, “I was untidy?” The next slap took her by surprise, hitting one buttock and then the other. Thomas controlled a groan, looking at her pretty ass turning a bright, rosy color. One long finger slid between her lower lips, causing the girl to clench her thighs together.

“What was the second act of disobedience?” Her hands tied behind her made it next to keep herself centered on his lap, tilting one way and then the other.

“I- it was…” The next slap landed on the crease of her ass, where the skin was thinner and more sensitive.

“What do you call me, sweetness?” His voice was still calm, as if he was asking what she’d like for lunch. But the barely contained savagery of his hand on Isobel’s soft skin showed Thomas’s displeasure.

“Daddy! I’m- I’m sorry, Daddy. Please forgive me.” Her voice was shaking from holding back her sobs- she knew this wasn't going to be a quick swat.

The next three spanks landed on her upper thighs, then laid perfectly over the red hand prints beginning to form on Isobel's red bottom. "And your third misbehavior?" Her ass was on fire and to the girl's horror, the heat was spreading to her pussy, making it nearly impossible to think of anything rationally as his fingers stroked her again.

"Daddy, I don't know- I'm truly sorry, I don't!" The next slap landed against her inner thigh, then ricocheted quickly to the delicate skin of the other. 

“You argued with me when I corrected you on your error,” Thomas said in his most silky, deadly tone. “You wasted time disagreeing with me when this could have been over with so quickly.” That harsh hand slapped down on her skin twice more as the girl bit back a shriek, which melted into a moan as his long, knowing fingers slid through her slick pussy again. “Hm, baby girl, this makes me wonder if this is a punishment after all.”

 “Are we done, Daddy?” Isobel’s voice was small, she was trying to fight confusing feelings of wanting this to be over and wanting his fingers to stay right where they were at that moment.

“No, my sweet doll, what was your fourth act of defiance?” His rough fingertips kept gliding up and down between her swollen pussy lips. The girl tried to think over the conflicting sensations of burning misery from her ass and brazen heat and wet from between her legs.

 “I don’t- I can’t-” She sniffled.

 “You fought against me when I administered your punishment.” The dark, silken voice now sounded genuinely disappointed. “You didn’t trust me to help you learn your lesson.”

 Isobel turned her head to look back up into his face, his hand around her neck to balance her. Thomas looked displeased with her, and somehow that did seem worse. Her big green eyes filled with tears. “I’m truly sorry, Daddy. It was just a reflex, I’ll be better next time.”

He smiled, one of those beautiful ones that lit his eyes back to azure. “I know, baby. Put your head back down and be still.” Hearing the whisking sound of his belt sliding loose from his trousers, Isobel stiffened again. She could see from the corner of her eye as he folded the belt in half, keeping the buckle in his hand to avoid damaging her skin. She put her forehead against his thigh, trying to prepare. But the explosion against her ass was so much worse than his spankings, setting a line of fire across her cheeks. 

"I hate you!" She hissed, clenching her hands into fists, wishing she could hit this horrid, beautiful, filthy man.

"I know," he said kindly, "hold on, baby girl." The next four lashes of his belt across her bottom were no less painful, and Isobel gritted her teeth, once shrieking despite herself. The misery finally ended, and Thomas dropped his belt to the polished oak flooring.

  
Isobel wept, too hard to tell if pain or rage had the upper hand. Thomas lifted her gently onto his lap avoiding the scorched area of her reddened ass and thighs. She felt him undo what was left of the little lace nightie he'd used to bind her hands, putting her arms around his neck and letting her bury her face into his warm skin. "My precious angel," Thomas soothed. "My role as your Daddy is to help you reach the absolute height of your potential." He rubbed her miserably sore thighs, gently resting his hand on the welts there. "You cannot be careless, darling, you must remember everything I tell you, and obey me instantly." Thomas easily moved her to straddle his lap, looking at her sternly. "Just as if your life depends on it."

"My life, Daddy? Surely, that is a bit..." Isobel tried to wipe her eyes, not sure of what to say. The girl let out a small moan as he gently lifted her higher, and after opening his pants, right on to his cock standing up in the same moment. The sudden movement drove his cock fiercely up to the top of her channel, and Thomas grunted to feel her strong thighs wrap around his hips in a death grip. He didn't thrust, simply walked to the bathroom still buried inside her, pulling off her dress and the rest of his clothes. Isobel was mortified to hear the long hiss of pleasure erupt from her mouth. His cock, his long thighs and his pelvis all seemed to massage her, inside and out though his hard flesh stayed embedded inside her. 

As for Thomas, he had to grit his teeth against the growl rumbling through his chest. His beautiful little doll's exquisite cunt was squeezing his painfully hard dick in every direction, her wetness sliding against his balls. He could smell the sweet scent of her hair as Isobel buried her head in his neck, still hiding her face and moaning in a most delightfully wanton fashion. "God, baby girl, your juicy cunt is on fire- squeezing my cock so perfectly. You're going to take this, take all of it like a good girl, and you aren't going to come until I say so. Understand, my sweet doll?" Isobel nodded rapidly, desperate, willing to agree to anything if he would just take away this ache.

He leaned in to the shower to turn on the multiple jets. His precious doll tightened those long, ballet-strengthened legs around him, clearly worried he'd let her go. Placing her back against the cool tile, Thomas tenderly smiled down at her expression of blissful relief when her inflamed skin felt the chill of the marble. "There's a good girl," he soothed, "just...hold on. I'll do the work." And he did, moving his hips is a maddening way that had no pattern- first thrusting brutally up into her and bouncing the girl up and down roughly. Then, as he felt those slippery walls tighten against him, Thomas lazily rotated his hips as he slid that long cock all the way up inside her, pulling back out to the tip and forcing her to look down. "Your slick is making my cock glisten, my precious girl. So juicy..." He paused to enjoy the sight of her toned tummy clenching, trying to draw him back inside he. "What do you need, little one? Hmmm?"

Isobel's head dropped with a thud against the hard tile, her back arching against him. There was another long, tortuous pass as Thomas forced her to feel the spongy tip of his cock part her, then every bump and throbbing vein on his cock slide through her painfully sensitive channel. "Could I..." She moaned, trying to remember what she was supposed to say, to remember her rules- but it was so hard when Thomas was rubbing against her sensitive breasts, that fat cock spreading her and his quiet pants and grunts in her ear. "May I please come, Daddy?" She finally managed, "I really- please I need it, please?"

To her inexpressible relief, his long fingers reached down to bracket his cock, feeling her opening stretched tight against his thrusting shaft, then gathered the moisture to pull her clit between the knuckles of his fingers.The end was quick then for both of them, their moans echoing through the tiled space. Thomas carefully washed his limp and spent little girl, causing her to gasp as he slid a soapy finger inside her to release the rest of his come. Once she was dressed in his red plaid shirt, worn silky smooth by too many washings and her punished skin smoothed with a numbing gel, he put his lovely doll to bed. 

"Relax and take a nap, darling," Thomas smiled kindly, brushing her curls away from her face. "Daddy has to go back to the office for a couple of meetings."

"Should I make dinner, Daddy?" Isobel asked sleepily.

Just brushing his lips over her parted ones, he whispered in her ear. "I'd rather have a meal of that tender pussy..." An embarrassed giggle erupted from his doll, and Thomas kissed her again before leaving.

 

A knock on the front door woke Isobel from her doze an hour later, and she groggily rose from the bed to peek through the spyhole. One of the building's security men had hung Thomas's dry cleaning there and returned to the elevator. Heaving a sigh of relief, she opened the door. This, at least, she was allowed to do. Picking up the beautiful suits and shirts in their plastic coverings, Isobel headed for the bedroom, opening the doors to Thomas's massive closet room. The first time the girl had seen it, her jaw dropped. It was larger than her bedroom at home- rows upon rows of suits by color, then by weight. Starched shirts aligned perfectly and drawers of beautiful silk ties. Thomas had chuckled when she'd hung her little collection of dresses and skirts on one rod. Isobel only needed two of the ten drawers he'd pulled out to let her know which ones belonged to her. "I believe we need to take you shopping, darling. Even as a student, you're expected to dress better than this at Cambridge." She'd been surprised to discover that Thomas was an alumni and the girl begged him to take her on a walking tour of his old stomping grounds. "Sometime before classes start," he'd promised. Isobel was a little too excited, but she couldn't explain how much she was looking forward to knowing something- _anything_ at all about this man who suddenly took over her entire life.

Taking the plastic off each suit, Isobel carefully hung each one in the right spot, centering the wooden hanger before moving to the next. It was when she’d moved to hang up the stiffly-pressed shirts that she noticed something. Dropping a shirt while getting it on to it’s proper hanger, Isobel went to her knees quickly before it wrinkled on the floor. Then she saw the box- a wooden one about the size of a shoe box in the the dark corner of the closet. Hanging up the shirt and smoothing it carefully, she eyed the box. It could be nothing- but it was completely unlike Thomas to tuck something away like that. Isobel had cautiously explored the flat several times when Thomas was away at work and she’d finished her summer prep studies for Cambridge. There was nothing personal anywhere- no pictures of family or friends, old mementos taped to mirrors or reminders for parties placed on the fridge. So, that box…

Going back to her knees, Isobel crawled to the back of the huge space, pulling her treasure back out and sitting on the floor in front of the open doors. Touching the top of the polished surface, she idly traced the initials there- M.T.W. Not Thomas’s, then? She thought. Isobel shyly asked him once what his middle name was and he’d raised a dark brow at her before shaking his head. “I don’t have one,” he said, focus returning to hip laptop.

“Are you named after your father?” Isobel unwisely persisted. Shivering as his polar blue eyes rose from the screen to look at her, she shrugged weakly. “I just...wondered.”

“No,” he finally answered, “I’m not.”

So...whose initials? Gently opening the lid, Isobel’s heart started pounding. There was a stack of pictures, an old watch and a small scatter of pins and rings. She recognized some of the tarnished jewelry as Scottish emblems- perhaps these were meant to wear with a kilt? One of the simple bands looked like a man’s wedding ring- very modest. Setting them aside, Isobel reached in for the pictures, feeling hot and excited- Thomas _did_ have a family! She remembered her mother once telling her father that “Your boss must have hatched from an egg, it’s as if he has no personal connections at all, no family!” Alistair had looked over to where his daughter was studying and hissed to Bridget to shut up.

The pictures were all at least 20 years old, some showing a skinny, unsmiling boy who had to be Thomas. There was only one where he had a grin- one arm around the neck of a younger boy and the other around a little girl. They all shared the same dark hair and pale blue eyes- unmistakably siblings. There were a couple of the children with a very much older man- a grandfather, maybe? And only one of the three with what were surely their parents; a man with Thomas’s face as an adult, but with an easy smile she’d never seen on the lips of the man who owned her. The woman was very pretty, but her thin lips pressed tightly with a look of vague discontent. Isobel’s thumb ran lightly over the photo, pondering this little family and wondering where they were.

The sound of the front door opening nearly made her heart stop.

“Isobel, darling?” There was a clinking sound of keys being dropped in a dish on the hall table. “I’m home, where are you?”

Scrambling, Isobel replaced everything back in the same order in the box and quickly shut the lid. She could hear the measured footsteps coming towards the bedroom. “Little girl...come out, come out…” Thomas entered the open doors to the closet room and found his lovely doll, holding one of his shirts.

Looking up with a smile, she said “I was just...hanging up your dry cleaning.” Giving her a kiss, Thomas ran one finger down the rapidly beating artery in her neck.

“Your heart is pounding,” he observed, still stroking her neck.

To his amusement, Isobel blushed. “Well, you do that to me.”

Chuckling, pleased, he kissed her again. “Would you like to pick up your brother and take him out to dinner? We could take him on The Eye again.” The joy that flared in those pale eyes made him feel strangely warm.

“Yes- thank you! I would love that- but...do you think my parents will allow him to? He’s being punished for getting a lower mark in science.” The sight of Thomas staring at her as if to ask, “And?” was obvious, and Isobel laughed. “Thank you so much, Daddy.”


	10. Blood On His Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is bound. To ropes, and to secrecy.

 

While Isobel was sorting through the few remnants of Thomas's past, the man in question was staring down at a sweating Frenchman in front of the bullet-proofed, one-way glass in the windows of the board room on the top floor of the Corporation's building. "What a...disappointment you've turned out to be, Tremaine." Staring down at his balding captive, Thomas idly spun a slim knife between his fingers. "Not only did you attempt to steal from us, you thought you'd sell us out to the Iraqis?"

Tremaine's answer was garbled by the fact that Thomas had broken his jaw. "I sch-wear I..." Hitting him across the mouth, Thomas continued, "The statement was rhetorical, you pathetic bastard." Irritably, he seized the bloody man's hair, "Oh, and don’t waste time hoping that weasel partner of yours will come to your rescue.” The door opened and two “security guards” dragged in another unfortunate employee, covered in excruciatingly painful burns and cuts. “He gave you up immediately,” Thomas reported in a bored voice.

“Really, Number Two.” The cold voice of Marc came from a comfortable chair in the corner, having just accepted a glass of chilled vodka from a burly suited man. “Can we move this along? Stop playing with your food and get to the point.”

It _was_ beneath Thomas’s high position in the Corporation to be dabbling in torturing information out of unmasked traitors, but no one was better. So if the “softening up” from one of the lower-level employees didn’t do the trick, the Second in Command was always happy to step in. These were, after all, the worst of the lowest in the criminal echelons- those who attempted to sell out the Corporation to arms dealers, sex traffickers and mercenaries of the most loathsome sort. So, still flipping that deadly-looking blade, Thomas leaned closer, nose wrinkling at the sour stench of blood and sweat pouring off his victim. “Now, Tremaine, thinking you could get us involved with the Iraqi dispute? Sarin gas? You attempted to use Corporation funds to purchase chemical weapons?” His moral outrage was a little over the top, given that Number One and his predecessor regularly engaged in arms dealing until Thomas rose in power, killed his rival and moved the Corporation into bank fraud and stock market manipulation- far more lucrative and without the unfortunate revenge issues from hot-tempered third world countries. "You really thought your idiot placement in IT could cover a funds transfer of that magnitude?" Walking over, Thomas irritably kicked the bloody "associate," before realizing he'd expired from his injuries. The Frenchman realized it at the same time, shrinking back with a groan, watching as the eyes of his former boss turned flat slate blue. "You're going to give us the transfer codes immediately. You're going to tell us the names of who you're working with. And if you do it quickly enough, I'll finish you without more suffering. I have plans for this evening..." His traitorous cock began to rise, thinking about Isobel's lovely, rosy-red ass from this morning. "...and if you delay me, I will be _very_ disinclined to make this brief.”

The wretched Tremaine began babbling out strings of French as quickly as he could, too far gone to remember to speak in English. Fortunately, Thomas spoke excellent French, so the discussion was only long enough for the First in Command to accept another vodka as he sipped and watched the pitiful exchange. Finally stepping back, his Second accepted a cloth and wiped the blood from his hands. “Do we have it all, Thomas?” He asked, eyeing what was left of their “security problem” on the floor.

“Of course,” the man answered, critically examining his cuticles to make sure they’d been cleaned properly. “I’d suggest a quick assassination for the two Iraqi officials and immediate destruction of the sarin gas. The Warshoshki Brothers are excellent for a quick removal.”

“Hold up,” the annoyed voice of Harding interrupted, “it’s still ten bloody million pounds worth of goods- let’s just re-sell the lot to-”

Turning to where he was pacing back and forth, Thomas not-quite snarled. “Really, Number Three? Put sarin gas weaponry out on the market and see who bites? Most logically, the same swine who attempted to steal it from us in the first place? After all our work to shed ourselves of such...high-risk transactions?”

Tom bristled, glaring up at the taller man. “You might be too cowardly to delve into the big money arenas, but I’ll bet Marc isn’t!”

Rolling his eyes, First in Command still up, handing his glass to his attendant. “Don’t be an idiot, Number Three. We’ve been through this before. And the Corporation’s bottom line has tripled since we went into finance.” Waving at the human wreckage distastefully, he ordered, “Get rid of this. We’re flying to Beijing tomorrow.” Stepping closer to Thomas, the older man asked, “Do you see any further entanglements here?”

Turning his beautifully suited back to the room and leaning in so only Marc could hear him, Thomas murmured, “It never should have gotten this far. We need a thorough sweep of both the IT and Financial departments, I feel as if we’re missing something.” Black brows knitted, First in Command nodded and left the room.

Looking back to where Tom was hovering over the brutalized Frenchman, he shook his head. So eager, that one. “Would you like to finish him off?” Thomas inquired courteously.

The wide, happy grin from the full lips of his associate was mildly troubling. “With pleasure, mate. By the way, Second-” Thomas stilled as Harding called after him, “do give my best to your lovely Isobel, won’t you?”

So while Isobel was wondering about where his family was now, pondering those old photos, Thomas was tapping his thumb on the leather covered steering wheel of his Jaguar, wondering if he’d need to kill Harding.

 

Forcing himself back into the present and the lovely, smiling face in front of him, Thomas repeated, “Would you like to pick up your brother and take him out to dinner? We could take him on The Eye again.” The joy that flared in those pale eyes made him feel strangely warm.

Happily standing on tiptoe to kiss Thomas back, Isobel ran her hands down the lapels of his beautiful suit. “Thank you, I’ll just call Ari now.”

“I think I should call your father, darling,” he soothed, “avoid any fuss.” Watching her beautiful face fall as the memory of her parents avoiding her gaze as Thomas drew her away that night, Isobel nodded, with an expression of bitterness he’d never seen before. “Darling?” His big hand pushed her chin back up, “You don’t have to worry about them. Not any longer.” The girl forced a smile and nodded.

Walking into their closet room, Thomas distractedly pulled off his jacket and tie, unclasping his cufflinks as Isobel’s father picked up. “Yes, Thomas? How are you?” He enjoyed the sound of intense anxiety in the man’s voice, happy to hear him suffer the same feelings he’d roused in his daughter.

“Cameron. Isobel and I will be stopping by in an hour to pick up Ari.” Unbuttoning his shirt, his mouth curled slightly to hear the man stumble over his agreement. Pressing the end button on his phone, Thomas held up his hands again to make sure all the blood was gone, that none of the grisly fluid splashed onto his shirt cuffs. Satisfied, he pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his trousers, the memory of his doll writhing over his lap as he’d used that belt on her that morning was wildly arousing. “Isobel,” his voice was suddenly deeper, sounding guttural, “come here, please.”

The girl went still as she heard him calling for her- that dark, greedy edge that meant he intended to be inside her within  the next ten minutes. Her exhausted center twinged, but still began moistening eagerly, ignoring the soreness that shrieked out every time Isobel sat down. Hurrying to the dressing room, she twisted her fingers together nervously. "Yes, Daddy?"

His head tipped back as Thomas heard her sweet, anxious voice. "There you are, my angel," he soothed, "come to Daddy, now." He watched as those pale, exotic eyes dropped to the leather belt he was grasping.

"He knows!" She thought wildly, "He knows that I went snooping and he's going to hurt me- would Thomas _kill_ me?" Isobel couldn't gave explained how such a drastic thought occurred to her, but looking into her lover's still, intent face, she believed it was possible. "Did I do s-s-something wrong, Daddy? I swear I've been good-"

Kissing her forehead, Thomas stroked her clammy cheek. "No, baby. You've been my good girl, haven't you?"

Those seagreen eyes rose piteously to his. "I've...I've tried to, Daddy." Isobel closed her eyes as his warm hand came up to up her face. 

"You _are_ my good girl, Isobel. I want to show you how binding you can be even more pleasurable than this morning's...correction. No fighting, no over-thinking what you should do...just giving that brilliant, restless mind of yours a moment to be still." Thomas had her by the hand now, leading her to their bed. "Give me your hands, baby girl, cross them at your wrist." The man looming over her could see Isobel's hands shake, but she obediently did as he ordered. Within a moment, the belt was around her wrists in an elegant figure eight- tight enough to hold her bound without hurting the soft skin on Isobel's arms. Tugging lightly on the leather, Thomas kissed her, brushing his lips teasingly over hers. "The next time we play, I'll let you choose- silk scarf, smooth leather...perhaps a harsh rope." Laying her back across their pillows, he carefully pulled her long hair loose to keep it from being tangled under her, spreading the silky brown and gold strands across the crisp white of the pillow. He could almost see her heart pound desperately against the thin skin of her chest, but his lovely doll lay still. Next, he hooked her bound wrists to a metal clasp on the headboard Isobel had never noticed before. Tentatively tugging on her bindings, the girl realized she wasn't going anywhere until Thomas allowed it. But as she was focused on her bound wrists, her dark lover was busy- folding one long leg until the heel touched just under her buttock, tying the leg tightly with a smooth rope, then the other. Embarrassed, Isobel tried to close her legs until his strong hands spread them again, examining all the most secret, intimate parts of her with a long, appreciative appraisal. Seeing Isobel try to hide her humiliated face in her shoulder, Thomas turned her face to his. "No, baby girl, no...you can't hide from me. There's nothing to be ashamed of, this exquisite body..." 

Isobel flinched as his mouth suddenly found her pussy, giving her wet center a shameless, wide, open-mouthed kiss. "Oh..." It was all she could manage, but her diabolical lover heard her. A pleased hum from deep in his broad chest vibrated through her, making nerves endings all the way down to the soles of her feet spark almost painfully. His hands pushed her bounds legs wider, settling between the girl's legs to suckle and play with her swelling lips, tickling her with his tongue, occasionally taking sharp nips with his teeth, just to enjoy her startled squeal. 

"All spread open for me, love," Thomas's beautiful, sonorous tone spread across Isobel's trembling body, "so deliciously, shamelessly exposed." Her back arched in shock as his warm, pointed tongue suddenly circled the anxious pucker of her anus before stroking it with his finger, dipping just the tip of it inside. 

"Daddy! Please! Please, I'm not ready for- for-" Isobel was so alarmed her body was completely rigid, her fearful eyes looking up at his intent expression.

"Shhhh...my little doll, not tonight." He soothed, "I was just...playing." Sliding his other hand into play, Thomas pushed two fingers up Isobel's channel, enjoying her gasp and moan. The girl tried to focus, but all she could do was pull helplessly against her bonds and try to tighten her legs against him- a fruitless endeavor, since his broad shoulders impatiently pushed them apart again. "No hiding, little one..." His words were muffled a bit from refusing to release her clit from between his lips, and Thomas hummed when she suddenly surged into an orgasm. Pulling her through it with those twisting fingers up her channel, he waited until Isobel's thighs were too loose and relaxed to close before sliding up and sinking his engorged cock inside her. Hearing her pained whimper, Thomas whispered soothingly, "Oh, sweet girl. Are you sore? You'll get used to me, over and over inside this." Thrust. "Perfect." Thrust. "Sweet." Thrust. "Cunt." Hearing his doll gasp at his deliberate crudity, Thomas shoved harder, lean muscles in his long legs tensing and releasing until he hissed, "You will come now, my precious whore. Now!" Exploding inside as her silken walls clamped down against him, Thomas struggled to keep himself together. She felt so good- tight, warm and so very wet around him, her long legs and arms bound, holding her still for whatever he chose to do to his delicious little girl. And as Isobel was shuddering from the last of the tremors he'd forced from her, Thomas kissed one high cheekbone and murmured, "Tomorrow, I will teach you to suck me the way I do you." Hearing her last gasp at his promise, he unwrapped her legs and wrists, stroking long fingers against the red marks to be sure there was no numbness. After kissing and holding her for a moment, the man who'd just tortured two traitors that night gently cleaned himself from Isobel and dried her with a soft towel. "Rest for a moment until you're ready to get dressed, sweetness. I'm going to take a quick shower." Watching Thomas's sculpted ass walk into the bathroom, the girl gave a little involuntary shiver as she managed to rise and find a soft cotton sundress and cashmere sweater to wear. Brushing her hair and trying to restore some order to her appearance, Isobel giggled a bit, putting her grooming items and then bending to pick up Thomas's discarded clothing. As she moved to place his Aquatalia loafers back in the shoe rack, Isobel paused as she felt something wet smear against her fingers. Holding the digits up to the light, the girl knew it was blood- there was no denying the rust-red color of drying blood and the faint, coppery scent. Watching the hand held before her shake, Isobel tried to think of any reason  the man who owned her could have blood on his shoes. Not even knowing why she did it, the girl quickly wet a rag and carefully removed the traces of the incriminating stain and threw away the cloth, reminding herself to take the bag to the building's incinerator herself tomorrow.

 

Later, after dinner and Ari's amusing story about his professor getting caught in the trunk of his own car, Isobel watched as Thomas leaned against the glass of their private car in the Eye, putting a hand on her brother's slim shoulder, pointing out the Houses of Parliament. Watching his long fingers gently rest on Ari's arm as the boy turned adoring eyes to him, the girl refused to consider why there was blood on Thomas's shoes. And why she instinctively destroyed the evidence. 

  


	11. "Girls Love To Shop, Don't They?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas takes Isobel shopping at Selfridge's. And because Thomas is not known for discretion, it is the hottest shopping excursion in department store history. Also, Shepard's Pie and horrified realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this week has been comprised of nothing but 14 hour days at my new job, self-pity and caffeine pills, I have neglected to share that misreall has a new chapter up for "War Is Hel" and it's...god, the smut! It's incendiary! :  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/9405854/chapters/22413209#main
> 
> Also! My diabolical Hurricanerin wrote a searingly hot one-shot for Coriolanus that I am hoping could turn into a story if we all comment and harass her enough. Find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9653594
> 
> And to all the authors who offer us such great happiness with your amazing work- please know I am sorry for being the selfish asshole who reads and loves you and doesn't comment. I swear I will, because I know how fortifying comments can be. I'll be better about it as soon as I wrestle this new job into submission. But you are the one thing keeping me sane.

 

When Isobel woke the next morning, she had a brief moment of panic after looking at her phone- it was much later than their usual rising time of 6am, and Thomas was nowhere to be seen. Wincing a bit at the stubborn ache between her legs, Isobel allowed herself a small moment of relief that she wouldn’t be getting an early morning workout from her insatiable Daddy. She hoped. Filling that magnificent tub with the hottest water she could stand, the girl stepped in carefully and let out a sigh of relief, sinking into the searing heat and feeling it comfort her sore body. Just as she was beginning to relax, her gaze rose to the open bathroom door, where Thomas leaning against the wall. Sweaty from his run, arms crossed over his chest and with a indulgent smile on his face, he was both beautiful and infuriating, especially when he chuckled as Isobel jumped and gasped, startled by his sudden appearance. ‘The man moves like a cat!’ she grumbled internally, humiliated that she’d not even heard him come in.

“Sorry darling,” Thomas said insincerely as he entered the room and bent to give her a kiss. “You just looked so sweet and pink, I had to admire you.” Isobel felt her abdomen tighten as one big hand pushed her back against the marble of the tub. “I do believe you would live in this bathtub if I’d allow it,” he smoothed the girl’s hair away from her flushed face, enjoying the warmth of his lovely doll’s perfect skin.

With a small, embarrassed smile, Isobel nodded. “I probably would. It’s just so...comforting, I guess.”

A frown flitted over his expression as he heard a tinge of sorrow in his doll’s voice. He’d forgotten how much had changed in such a short time for his Isobel. “Well,” Thomas soothed, “don’t get too relaxed in there, darling. We’ll be going soon.” Stripping off his sweaty clothes and throwing them in a hamper, Thomas moved in all his naked glory to the shower, turning it on. Isobel drew her knees up to her chest and rest her chin on them, gazing at his ass. He was so very beautiful- far more than she was, really. The long lines of his back flexed beautifully with his lean musculature, every movement controlled and precise. She’d watched Thomas use his body as another weapon in his arsenal- not just sexually, although her aching body and endless stream of orgasms could attest to that. But to intimidate, looming over the unfortunates with his superior height, graceful movements that could clearly turn violent within the second, expressions on his handsome face that could freeze someone like a cornered rabbit. 

It took Isobel a moment in her admiring study of her captor’s body to realize what Thomas had said to her. “Going? Where are we going, Thomas?” He poked his head out of the opened glass door of the shower to see his doll rising from the tub like Aphrodite emerging from her shell. Wrapping one of his huge, soft towels around her, Isobel stepped closer, “You um, you said ‘we’re going soon?’”

“Ah.” Thomas briskly dried off, still magnificently nude as Isobel clutched her towel closer. “I’m taking you shopping. You can’t travel with me without the proper clothes.”

“We’re traveling?” Isobel followed him like an anxious duckling into the closet room, watching Thomas pull on some black jeans and a blue shirt, rolling up the sleeves. With a dark smile a her, he picked up the belt he’d tied around her wrists the day before and gave it a brisk snap, chuckling as she jumped again. He didn’t miss the small sigh of relief from Isobel as he looped it through his jeans.

“Of course, Isobel.” Thomas ran his hands up her arms, squeezing her shoulders gently. “Don’t you want to see all the places I’ve told you about over the years?” Those long, treacherous fingers of his began sliding over the girl’s collarbones, lightly, just barely brushing the thin skin there. His voice deepened with want. “There’s so much I have to show you.” The full body shiver from Isobel wasn’t just from the tickling sensation of Thomas’s hand, and she knew he knew that, too.

 

“Could you give me a hint?” Isobel was pleading with Thomas as she looked out the Jaguar's darkened window as they turned on to Oxford Street.

Smiling at her fondly, Thomas squeezed her thigh. “No.” Attention turned back to traffic, he grinned at her frustrated grunt as she sat back. But when they pulled in front of the magnificent front of Selfridge’s, she had her answer.

Selfridge’s. Isobel had only been inside the exalted doors of the city’s most prestigious department store once, watching her mother select a new evening gown that cost more than her Range Rover. “Beyonce shops here,” the girl said worshipfully, “and Gwen Stefani.”

Sliding her hand into her, Thomas squeezed it. “And now, you, darling. Come along now…” he leaned in closer his warm breath fanning Isobel’s cheek. “Don’t keep Daddy waiting.” Enjoying the shiver than ran through his doll, he pulled her inside. Isobel followed obediently as he led her through the store and through the women's section. Stepping into a discreet alcove, they entered an even more elaborate section, where a beautifully dressed blonde hurried to greet them.

"Mr. Williams, a pleasure, sir!" 

Isobel shuffled from one sandaled foot to the other. She was used to women- and even some men- fawning over Thomas. She’d usually just stand there, waiting for them to finish or for the man to impatiently cut them off. He was apparently favoring the former today, allowing the blonde to gush over how _honored_ she was to assist him. Finally removing her clutching hand from his, Thomas smiled graciously, taking Isobel’s arm to pull her forward gently. “And this must be Miss Cameron,” the woman cooed, looking her up and down with a critical eye.

Thomas noticed. “Carlotta. Your name, correct?”

“Yes, Mr Williams,” she beamed.

“Do you feel capable of treating Miss Cameron with the respect she deserves, or shall I be taking her to Harrod’s for a new wardrobe?” Thomas was no longer smiling urbanely, his voice was clipped.

Isobel actually felt some kinship for the blonde as she paled and attempted to stutter out an apology, but she’d seen Subtly Menacing Thomas before and had no intention of stepping in. Finally cutting off the employee’s apology, he said, “Let’s begin.” They were ushered into a large dressing room with racks of clothing, stacks of shoe boxes, multiple mirrors and even a little platform in the center of the room. Isobel’s heart sank. Were they going to force her to stand there, on display?

“I’ll need to get some measurements,” Carlotta was back in professional mode, “just to fine-tune some of the items.” Nodding to a screen in the corner, she asked, “Could you just undress down to your undergarments, please?” Eyes wide, Isobel looked at Thomas’s amused gaze before stepping behind the screen. Taking off her shorts and jumper as slowly as she dared, the girl sighed. She knew perfectly well that he had no intention of leaving the room. Which meant she would suffer not only the indignity of this woman measuring her like a mannequin, but it would be under the smoldering sapphire gaze of Thomas. Sighing, Isobel stepped back out and as she’d dreaded, was directed to the center platform as Carlotta whipped out a measuring tape. “Lovely,” the blonde murmured, “you must be an athlete with all this muscle tone?” 

The measuring tape froze for a moment and the girl looked down to see Carlotta staring at the bruises on her ass, just peeking over her panties.

“Ballet,” Isobel said, barely above a whisper. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but the piercing eyes of the man seated indolently in front of her. Quite at home on the cushioned couch with a cup of tea beside him. He was making a leisurely visual tour of her nearly-nude body- appreciating her long legs, the soft swell of her breasts over her pretty lace bra. It was like the ordeal at the gynecologist’s visit, but worse. Standing there in the scraps of lace he’d bought for her and nothing else, the drone of numbers and measurements from the blonde faded as she stared back at the man who owned her, wondering how on earth it had all come to this.

Thankfully, the fitting didn’t drag on as long as Isobel had feared, given the racks upon racks of clothing waiting for them. Dresses, skirts, beautiful soft sweaters and silky scarves flowed past her, obediently stepping into Louboutins and then butter-soft boots. Unfortunately, when Carlotta pulled out the rack with a series of increasingly beautiful evening gowns, the girl started to sweat. There was no way her pretty white undies wouldn’t show under these, and she stepped backwards when the fitter came up to her waving a sheer taupe thong and a barely-there bra. “Why don’t you put on these, Miss Cameron, and then-”

Watching her pale face, Thomas knew Isobel was at her limit. “Carlotta, could you fetch Miss Cameron some tea and a sandwich? I believe she’s getting tired.” As the woman hastened for the door, he added, “Oh, and do take your time. I’ll be happy to help Isobel.” He purred the last, not breaking his hold on her stare. Standing up, he walked to the door, turning the lock with a smile at his nervous little doll. “Let me help you, darling. It will be quicker, and less chatter, yes?” Bringing a lovely black Stella McCartney to Isobel, he urged, “Yes?” Watching Isobel nod with her head down, he put one finger under her chin and lifted it. “Use your words, babygirl.”

“Yes?” Isobel managed, feeling like an idiot. It was those mirrors- so many stupid mirrors all reflecting her body, her uncomfortable movements, those bruises on her behind and- oh, _God!_ She could clearly see the marks from Thomas’s teeth on one shoulder.

Watching her head drop again, Thomas sighed impatiently and lifted her chin again. “What is going on, darling? You’ve been doing so well.”

This time there were tears in those pale eyes. “She must think I’m your- I look like-”

He frowned, puzzled. “My what?”

“Your whore!” Isobel burst out, then flinched at the expression on his face.

Seeing her reaction, Thomas lifted his hand slowly this time, carefully tracing his rough fingers along her cheek. “Is that what you think, Isobel?”

There were so many things the girl wanted to say- why did her parents give her to him, what did he give them- did he _buy_ her? With money, or a more powerful position for her father? Would Thomas own her _forever?_ The thoughts started making isobel’s heart pound, and she forced her breathing to slow down. “I don’t know what I am,” she finally managed, overwhelmed by the torrent of questions left unanswered about her life and abrupt change it had taken. Unconsciously, she leaned into his hand when it cupped her cheek. Raising her eyes back to his troubled ones, Isobel watched him smile down at her.

“You’re...mine." He leaned closer, examining her. "You’re my Isobel.” Bending over to kiss her, Thomas ran his other hand around her waist, pulling her into his big body. “And it doesn’t matter what that woman thinks, because what she will show you is respect. No one will dare to show you less.”

Alternately chilled and comforted by his words, Isobel gave herself into the kiss, letting his tongue prod her lips open and slide through, stroking against her tongue and lips in that slick way that always made her moan a little. Feeling her relax against him, Thomas slid one broad palm under her panties, stroking bruised skin of her ass tenderly. When her grip on the back of his neck tightened, Thomas lifted her with that hand, whispering "Wrap your legs around me, baby girl." He always loved how her long legs would tighten around his waist, how they drove her pelvis into his. He knew his little doll didn't understand half the arousing behaviors she had, what they did to him. Stepping off the little riser and over to the padded back of the couch, Thomas whirled her around, bending her over the back and pulling down her panties. Isobel stifled the moan trying to free itself from her throat as he ran a hand through her thick hair, pulling her head upright. "Look up, darling, into the mirror." He gave a dark smile at her inarticulate noise of protest, but shook his head. "Don't move your eyes away, watch. This is who you are, sweetest girl."

Isobel gritted her teeth against another whimper as two fingers slid inside her, Thomas's thumb idly circling her clit, not really touching anywhere that would be helpful. Feeling her pushing that delectable ass against his groin, he groaned, leaning closer as they watched themselves in the myriad of reflections. Turning her head with his hand still fisted in her hair, he urged "Over here."

This time, a whimper did escape Isobel, the side view in another of those infernal mirrors showed his glistening fingers plunging in and out of her, the strong arm of the man behind driving them harder. Feeling her legs begin to shake, Thomas purred, "I believe you need to come, don't you?" Isobel managed a strangled sort of noise as his thumb came down hard on her clit and his hand tightening in her hair, yanking her head higher. "I want you to do that for me, darling. I want you to come all over my fingers, I want you to drip down my wrist like the delicious, wanton little girl that you are." Isobel tightened her grip on the sofa back as his hand moved faster and Thomas ran his tongue up the sensitive skin over her spine. "Such a good girl for Daddy," he urged, "I feel you tighten this sweet cunt over my hand..."

"Oh..." Isobel moaned, trying desperately to keep her voice down, terrified that the wet, brazen noises coming from his wet hand inside her could be heard outside the room. But she couldn't stop the orgasm boiling up inside her and her knuckles went white. "Oh, G-god..." 

"Come for Daddy. Right. Fucking. Now." Thomas hissed, then bit sharply into her shoulder, nearly drawing blood. And, just as he'd demanded, his little doll did, shaking and moaning as her wetness coated his hand. Releasing her hair, he wrapped his arm crosswise against her chest, holding the girl upright. "There's my baby, my juicy girl."

Resting her sweaty forehead against her hands, Isobel heard the crisp sound of Thomas unzipping his jeans, the soft rustle of his cock coming loose and sliding between her legs. "Ow..." She tried to protest, explain that they were in the middle of a wildly expensive department store with thousands of people shopping and likely their high-end personal shopper right outside the thin door with her ear pressed against it. But his warning growl stopped her and the girl felt Thomas kick her feet together, sliding his cock between her legs, rubbing against her wet, swollen lips and that already tender clitoris.

"Not inside you," Thomas assured in a guttural whisper, "you're too sore, darling. I know. Daddy always knows what you need, don't I?" The thick heat of his shaft split her, never going inside, just rubbing in that maddening, juicy way. Thomas slicked up two fingertips, and began patting her hard little pearl. Isobel tried to move away- it was too rough, too hard and she was so raw... "Ah, ah!" He admonished, giving her poor clit a little slap. Grinning as Isobel gave a little yelp, he kissed up her neck, licking against the soft lobe of her ear. "You do not move away from your Daddy. Be still, baby girl. You will take it." His hard thighs tightened against hers as he felt her next orgasm pushing through his doll's discomfort and his cock swelled even more to join her. Slapping the top of Isobel's slit, Thomas put his hand over her mouth, silencing the wail that was forced from her, along with her second finish.

'He's done, thank God." Isobel thought hazily, still obediently watching their reflection and admiring the lines of Thomas's shoulders tensing, the strong column of his neck as he threw his head back. He caught his leavings with in his hand, keeping them from the couch's satin upholstery and using them to slip and slide against her excruciatingly receptive pussy. 

“Oh, no…” she whimpered, “please, Daddy, I can’t-”

“Yes,” he smiled against her flushed cheek, “yes you can, baby. And you will.” Thomas enjoyed the wet squelch of his come and hers over his sweet doll’s clit, those puffy lips and the tender tissue of her opening. Not that Isobel needed any more moisture, but he loved the feeling of their wet finish mixing together. “Shhh…” he warned, “you don’t want the officious Carlotta hearing you, do you? Rich women, shopping for overpriced dresses listening to your precious moans and whimpers? Those dry cunts getting all hot wishing they could come like this? The scent of you- your slick kitty’s delicious scent filtering through the air, making men sniff like dogs, trying to find the source- their cocks rising?”

Isobel’s head dropped bonelessly to the sofa, feeling her ass push back against him against her brain’s wishes. Those hard fingers of his- Thomas always had such calloused fingers for a businessman- shoving and sliding through her, pausing to pinch her lips, then twist her throbbing clitoris. If he would just stop talking- that beautiful, horribly persuasive voice of his was running through her blood, making the girl feel like her skin was on fire…

“Imagine it, darling,” his mouth was suddenly against her ear again, voice coarsened to a heavy growl, “those filthy bastards beating their fists on the door, fighting to get at you, howling to bury themselves inside you- feel that tight pussy against them in the most unimaginably intense orgasm of their lives? Those women weeping, knowing they could never feel anything. As. Good. As. This.” Thomas slapped his dripping fingers against her pussy sharply, punctuating every word, then groaning with appreciation as his precious doll came against him on the final one, moaning and making him clap his hand over her mouth again.

The rest of the session passed in a haze for poor Isobel. Thomas held her, rocking gently back and forth until her shuddering stopped, then cleaned her gently with a wet towel from the tiny bathroom. He even allowed her to hide there as he allowed a furiously blushing Carlotta back in the room, still reeking of sex. Looking down at the hardened nipples pushing against her blouse, Thomas shook his head and briskly sorted through the racks, showing her what he wanted. Making the final notes on her iPad, the blonde nodded and managed, “Ah, I’ll just- I’ll just step out then and get started. Is there anything you or- or Miss Cameron require?”

The woman could feel herself get wet as those beautiful cobalt eyes stared down at her thoughtfully. “No, darling. That will be all. Please have those 15 pieces we discussed delivered to my flat by tomorrow morning.”

Nodding rapidly, Carlotta backed out the door like a supplicant leaving the King’s chambers, making Thomas grin again. The little washroom door opened, and a more composed Isobel came back out. “Can we go home, now?” She asked in a small voice. Thomas was surprised at the fierce sort of pleasure it gave him to hear her finally call the flat “home.”

 

“Darling, I have to run back to the office for a hour or two,” Thomas walked out of their bedroom, knotting his tie. “Can you make dinner?”

“Of course,” Isobel nodded, walking over to give him the kiss she knew he expected. He handed her a pretty blue bottle, and she looked up in inquiry.

“Bath salts,” he clarified, “they’ll help your soreness. Why don’t you have a soak first?” Thomas chuckled at her blush, brushing his cool lips over hers again. “You do so love that bathtub, don’t you?”

Of course, Isobel did just as he’d told her to, then began pulling pans out. There was a cooking show about to start in a few minutes, and she wanted to try the Shepard’s Pie recipe they’d be making. Turning to BBC News on the gigantic monitor on the wall as she waited, Isobel chopped onions, slicing potatoes as she thought about their surreal afternoon. Even after her soak, all Isobel’s delicate bits burned as she moved. “...Interpol officials confirmed today that this man, Karim Noujani, was responsible for the assassination of three top German investigators who were about to issue warrants for the arrest of Noujani and 15 other men charged with the theft of several tons of chemical weapons set for destruction from a military incinerator near Berlin. Noujani escaped arrest and is currently…”

Knife poised over the carrot she was about to julienne, Isobel’s hand began to shake. The picture of the man was blurry, but she was certain. It was the same man who’d leered mockingly at her from the office of Marc Strong, Thomas’s boss. What did he call him? Number One.

 

 


	12. "You Have To Get Angry"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel tries to be helpful to Thomas. And Harding tries to be helpful to Isobel. Neither turns out to be a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I'm going to focus on my story "You Will do This And You WILL Like It" for the next week or so. I want to finish that tale so I can tackle dirty, filthy, bearded Laing in another lurid High-Rise story.

 Isobel paced their sumptuous flat the next morning, thinking over the revelations learned from the news the prior evening. She’d managed to splash some water on her face and school her expression into something resembling calm before Thomas returned from his office. ‘What does he _do?’_ Isobel thought, newly consumed with curiosity about the man who seemed to own her. She might not have much information of the Corporation’s dealings, but the girl wasn’t stupid. International criminals did not lounge comfortably in the office of the president of a financial company unless there were more than financial activity going on. Could they not be aware of the man’s identity? Isobel fretfully ran her hand through her messy bun, trying to decide what to do. If anything. What _could_ she do? But...if Thomas didn’t know, this Noujani could destroy the Corporation by his association. The girl knew how dramatically the business had improved under his direction. It was the most important thing in his life, she admitted bleakly, more than she was.

Staring at her reflection in one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, Isobel knew she had to bring it up.

Sitting outside for lunch, the two were taking advantage of a warm, sunny London afternoon. The deck ran the length of the flat but faced inward to a little private park where there were no visitors, no prying eyes. Eyeing her as he wiped his lips with the napkin, Thomas finally spoke. “What’s bothering you, little one?”

Isobel stared at him. “How could you tell?”

He shook his head, a small, indulgent smile crossing that beautiful mouth. “You’ve barely eaten, I’ve received only “yes” or “no” answers and you’re wiggling in your chair like your arse is on fire.”

Despite her anxiety, Isobel giggled. “I’m an open book, I guess.”

“To me, at least.” His smile was kind for a moment, and she gathered her courage, putting her iPad down next to his plate.

“Do you remember the night you showed me your office? After the ballet?” Isobel cringed at his lecherous grin.

“Oh, yes, Darling. Fucking you against my window? With great pleasure. Why?” Laughing as his sweet doll hid her face in her hands, Thomas reached over to pull them away from her blush. “Why do you ask?”

Trying to gather her composure again, Isobel clicked on the link and turned the screen to Thomas. “Do you remember Mr. Strong mentioning this man? He was sitting in- what do you call him, Number One?- in his office?”

Those polar eyes rose to hers, and the girl concealed a shudder. This was a bad idea. Very bad. But it was too late to go back. “Yes, darling?” Thomas asked blandly, “What about him?”

Swallowing against her suddenly dry mouth, Isobel plunged on. “Number uh, Number One called the man Mr. Pashar. But...I was watching the BBC News last night at they showed a picture of this man- see, here? The newsreader said his name was Noujani- that he was responsible for stealing nerve gas agents with a group of men who deal in arms trading. He’s- the man is wanted by six countries, Thomas- I was worried that being associated with the Corporation could be trouble for you. I know what this company means to you.”

When Thomas looked back up to her from the iPad, his eyes were no longer that terrifying frigid shade. In fact, he looked thoughtful as he stared at her for a moment. "You brought this to my attention because you were worried about the company?" He asked. 

The girl's brow wrinkled. "Well, yes...I was worried about you," Isobel said, "I know how hard you've worked- an association with this man...wouldn't it damage the Corporation's reputation. I meant, in finance, trust is everything, isn't it?" 

Watching those pretty green sea glass eyes gazing at him so trustingly, Thomas felt a sort of psychic punch in the solar plexus. This sweet girl- his precious doll- trying to protect _him?_   He lifted her hand, kissing each fingertip and then the palm, laying it against his stubbled cheek. "My sweet girl," Thomas paused to kiss the thin skin of her wrist. "I am touched to see you so concerned about business. And your memory is magnificent. Surely you only caught a glimpse of Mr. Pashar."

Isobel shrugged uncomfortably. She knew he was Noujani. She was certain.

That certainty dissolved when he tapped out another url on her tablet and handed it back. "This is Pashar's website. He is the largest distributor of oriental rugs in Europe." Isobel frowned as she examined the website. The smirking man was certainly the one she'd seen in Number One's office. But he was no arms dealer, at least not according to the Forbes magazine article featured on the site. “He was meeting with Number One to fund a line of stores in the United States.”

Putting down the tablet, Isobel forced a smile, looking up at Thomas and bracing for a possible punishment for her nosiness. Instead, he was smiling at her, his handsome face softer than usual. “You’re not um, you’re not angry at me?” She asked in surprise.

Shaking his head, he pulled her up by her hand, leaning down to run his lips over hers.”You were only looking out for me, darling.” Thomas kissed her again, loving the feel of her plump lips cushioning his, “How could I be upset with you?” He put one big hand on each side of her face, making Isobel look up at him. “You can- and should- always tell me your concerns and worries. How can I help you if I don’t know you're troubled?”

Without thinking, Isobel blurted, “I’ve always thought you could read my mind.”

Thomas laughed and kissed her again. “Why don’t you go get ready for your self-defense class? Morris will be here in a moment to fetch you.”

“You’re not taking me?” She asked, following him to the front door.

“I’m afraid I have a few things to take care of, but I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours, all right?” Pulling her against him, Thomas savored the feeling of the girl’s body against his harder one, running one hand down her back to gently squeeze her bottom. “I have a surprise for you,” he promised.

Isobel smiled uncertainly. In her experience with this sometimes terrifying and complicated man, she’d learned that a surprise from Thomas could be very good  or very alarming. After he left, she dressed in some shorts and a looser jumper over her sports bra for her practice session with the stern Simja. Hearing the doorbell, she thought ‘just in time!’ grabbing her bag and heading for the door. Since she was expecting Morris to be at the door, she forgot her rule of checking the spyhole, which is why opening to door to see her mother was such a shock. Freezing, Isobel stared at Bridget, who was beaming at her with her best false social smile. “Darling! Give your mother a kiss!”

Her daughter remained right where she was, her hand gripping the doorknob. The woman- _not_ her mother, no longer her mum- the woman who'd  _sold_ her was gushing as if they were reconnecting after a long trip, or coming home from a semester at school. ‘But she never even looked at me like this then,’ Isobel suddenly thought, ‘I was never...important enough for this smile before.’ Part of her wanted to hug her mother and cry, needing comfort for the bizarre turn her life had taken. The other, colder part of Isobel’s brain wanted to scream at Bridget. What kind of a monster _sells_ her own daughter? Watches her walk away with a man nearly twice her age as his possession?

Bridget's mouth tightened with the still girl in front of her refused to smile, refused to move. "I'm just dropping by your passport. Thomas said you'd need it. He told me just to drop it at the concierge desk but I thought I'd just..."

Woodenly reaching out her hand for the passport, Isobel took it from her mother, suddenly knowing she was going to cry and not wanting to do it in front of this woman, she nodded once and carefully shut the door, sliding down the other side to sit on the floor as her tears came. Bridget's voice sounded through the door, a spiteful, defensive tone taking over the false sweetness. "I thought at least you would be thanking me, Isobel! We've given you the finest education, and now Thomas will give you anything you like. Anything! He has all the money in the world, you know! You should be _grateful!"_

Forcing herself to breathe, Isobel stood up and leaned close to the door. "You'd better leave before Thomas gets back," she said clearly, then listened to her mother huff and stomp down the hallway. Placing the passport on the hall table where her new Daddy kept his keys, the girl wiped the tears off her face, making sure to look out the spyhole to be certain the next knock on the door did indeed belong to Morris, Thomas's driver.

 

Thomas was inside his office, door closed against the open ones of Numbers One and Three. Flipping a switch for the untraceable coded line on his laptop, he typed in, "Transaction compromised. Eliminate Noujani and all associates along with the nerve gas." Irritably pressing the 'enter' button, Thomas ran a finger along his upper lip. When had Strong become so careless? Dealing with a client so sloppy that he was exposed on the bloody BBC evening news? Thinking again about his sweet doll's concerned eyes and earnest little explanation, he could feel his cock twitch and swell. She deserved some extra special care for being his good girl. 

 

Listlessly trying to bat away Simja's punches, Isobel just felt weary. Seeing her mother had drained all the energy from her body, making it hard to think. Finally, the woman irritably landed a punch that knocked Isobel on her back. Standing over her, the irate Israeli snarled "Why are you wasting my time? If you can't do better than this you need to leave."

Lying on the mat with her arm throbbing, the girl suddenly felt like crying again. "I'm sorry," she said bleakly, trying to get up. "I am just wasting your time, and mine."

The older woman looked at Isobel for a moment with a thoughtful frown. "Do you know why you have not improved?"

"No," said Isabel tiredly, "why don't you tell me."

"It's because you can't get angry," Simja said, "so 'good girl' this and 'yes sir' that. You can't fight and win if you are not angry enough to want it."

Drawing her knees up to rest her arms on them, Isobel scowled up at her. "You don't know me! You don't know anything about me." The knowing look in the Israeli's eyes made her flush miserably.

"What's all this?" Isobel knew that voice, turning to see Harding striding to them. "Since when did bullying become part of the curriculum? Isobel was doing a rather good job until you knocked her off her feet." 

Simja tensed, but held her ground. "Mr Harding," she said calmly, "I'm simply using the techniques I've always used with Mr William's full knowledge."

The Corporation's Number Three bent over and reached for her hand, lifting Isobel easily to her feet. "And I hope you don't mind that I was watching you spar," he whispered, his warm brown eyes smiling into hers. "I thought you were doing magnificently."

Isobel flushed and pulled her hand from his. "No," she said, "I'm afraid Simja is quite right, my head wasn't into it today and that's always a mistake."

"If that's the case," said Harding, "why don't I just bring you home? I believe Thomas is still out finishing up some... projects, eh?"  

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Isobel shook her head. "Thank you, but I have Morris here. So I have my ride." She started walking towards the door and Harding fell into easy step beside her. "I wanted to apologize." he finally ventured.

She stopped and looked at him, puzzled. "For what?"

"For having a bit of a tease with you and Thomas that day at his flat?" Harding looked sincerely remorseful. "I've always enjoyed taking the piss out of Thomas," he admitted, "but I hope that it didn't cause any... problems for you. It was thoughtless." 

Warmed by his apology, Isobel smiled and shook her head. "No," she lied, thinking of her first spanking, "it was just fine. Thomas wasn't bothered at all."

"Good, good!" Said Harding. Leaning slightly into her, he murmured, "Look Isobel, I just want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, any support? I'm here. I know the corporation life can get pretty overwhelming."

She shrugged helplessly, "You're very kind."

"You're so young," he said abruptly, looking troubled. 

"Miss Cameron!" Said Morris sharply, his face carefully expressionless, "Mr. Williams is on his way home and wanted to know where we were."

Smiling again at Harding, Isobel walked away. For the first time, she felt like maybe she'd made a friend in the empire Thomas ruled.

 

The man in question was lounging elegantly in the great room when Isobel got home, drinking a glass of Jameson. “Hello, Isobel,” he purred, “come sit on my lap and tell me about your lesson.”

Isobel hesitated, “I’m sweaty, should I go shower first?” At his raised brow, she quickly amended, “Daddy.”

He smiled darkly and patted his knee, so the girl dropped her gym bag and walked over, perching herself. “How did you do with Simja?” Thomas persisted, idly running a finger over the strip of skin between her shorts and sports bra.

Isobel felt...something. A slight menace that made her answer carefully. “I didn’t do very well today. I was tired, I suppose.”

“Ah,” he said, that finger joined by another and circling the material over her nipple, “anything else?”

“Simja said I’ll never fight well until I can become angry,” she sighed, “and Tom Harding showed up.”

Smoothly, his big hand slid over her breast and squeezed it lightly. “Really…”

Feeling irrationally guilty, Isobel shifted on his lap. “He said he’d watched my practice for a bit and offered to take me home, but Morris was there, of course.” Thomas put his hands on her hips and easily lifted her to straddle his lap, beginning to rub her spandex-covered crotch against his. “How thoughtful of Harding,” he not-quite hissed, “I must thank him.”

Putting her hands on his shoulders for balance, the girl licked her lips, trying to concentrate. “Harding just said if I needed anyone to talk to- ah!” Thomas thrust his hips up sharply against her, pushing his suddenly hard cock against her center. “That he uh...oooo…”

“He what, darling?” His beautiful voice poured over her senses, already sharpened by the heat between his legs.

“Um…” Isobel tried to remember what they were talking about. “What were- oh, god, Daddy!” Thomas had pulled aside her shorts and slipped into her- she hadn’t even noticed him opening his pants. The thick slip and slide of him along her suddenly wet pussy made her dig her nails into his shirt. Swiftly, he took her hands and put them behind her, holding her wrists in one big hand as the other began guiding her hips faster. 

His hand pushed her wrists up, forcing Isobel to arch her back helplessly, her clit rubbing against the wiry curls around his cock and already driving her towards an orgasm. Just as she almost reached it, Thomas paused, chuckling at her disappointed moan.

“What else did Harding say, lovely?” His mouth was against her neck, biting and sucking. Isobel knew there’d be marks the next day.

“He, uh…” She tried wiggling against his shaft and Thomas slapped her ass, enjoying her startled yelp. “He- he just said he knew Corporation life could be a little overwhelming and I was always welcome to talk to him!” Isobel finished in a hurry, the words tumbling over each other in her eagerness to come. His big fist tightened on her wrists as his other hand slipped between them, lightly circling her clit.

"Oh, my poor little doll,” Thomas soothed, “so wet. You must want to come very much, don’t you?” Her nod as Isobel buried her face in his neck made him grin. “Would you feel better if I just-” A strong thrust, another yelp from his doll. “Did-” Another thrust and he could already feel her walls begin to tighten and flex around his cock. “This?”

"Ah! Oh, god,Daddy!” Isobel cried, moaning and moving her hips mindlessly as he stroked her through her finish and set off another by lightly strumming her swollen pearl.

“Such a good girl…” he soothed, moving faster, harder up inside her for his own explosion, enjoying her gasp as his come boiled inside her. “Don’t you feel better now?” Isobel was panting against his chest and Thomas reluctantly let go of her hands, letting his doll put her arms around his neck. Regretfully pulling his spent dick from her, he pulled her shorts straight and patted the girl’s ass, encouraging her to stand up. “Go take a shower, lovely. I laid out some clothes for you.”

“Oh?” Isobel walked into the bedroom, seeing the mint colored linen dress that she recognized from Thomas’s erotic shopping spree. “Are we going somewhere tonight?” He walked in and gave her a kiss, already looking perfectly put together despite molesting her moments before.

Nodding at the luggage set by the bedroom door, he answered “Yes, I’m taking you to Singapore.”

“T-tonight?” Isobel gasped.

“Yes,” he agreed pleasantly, “hurry along now.”

Quickly soaping herself in the shower, she tried to adjust to the rapid change of events. ‘Well,’ Isobel thought, ‘at least I know why my moth- why she brought my passport by.’

Listening Isobel softly hum in the shower, Thomas answered a call. "It's done, Sir." 

"Good," he replied. "Make sure all the waste is incinerated."


	13. The Mile High Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel joins the Mile High Club, educates her palate and discovers 5 star hotels have lovely, fluffy beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH! Hurricanerin has a salacious update for "Go Fucking Crazy" here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8805904/chapters/23038968
> 
> And misreall's followup chapter to Loki's heartbreaking confessions is here (bring a tissue, you'll want it)  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8591122/chapters/23016384

Isobel knew perfectly well that Thomas demanded the best of the lifestyle he could afford- which was pretty much anything. So as Morris drove in the direction of Heathrow Airport, she was cautiously excited, looking forward to her first time in First Class. Her friend Carla boasted to her of fancy meals, slippers, and once the flight attendant even slipped her friend a free drink! So when their driver turned just before the exit to Heathrow, she turned to Thomas questioningly, who was going over some documents from his briefcase. Without looking up, a smile curled the corner of his mouth. “We’re not flying commercial, darling. The Corporation has a company jet, well, two actually. Number One and Harding flew out this afternoon.” Now his cerulean eyes looked up to hers. “I knew you’d be more comfortable flying alone this time.” Watching her relieved and grateful smile spring to those pillowy lips he craved, Thomas felt a stab of fondness for his sweet, unspoiled pet. It was such a pleasure showing his Isobel new things, new experiences. She accepted them all with enthusiasm and appreciation, still remembering to thank him each time in that funny, old-fashioned way she had, like how she used to write him earnest little “thank you” notes when she was at Benenden.

Pulling up beside the Lear jet, Isobel gasped and leaned forward. The captain shook Thomas’s hand as they came aboard, and nodded to her with a smile. “Welcome aboard, Miss Cameron. I understand this is your first time flying with us, so please let us know if we can make you comfortable in any way.”

The girl flushed and smiled nervously, uncomfortable at being the center of attention. “Um, thank you. I can’t imagine not being comfortable here- it’s just...lavish.”

Thomas chuckled as he slid his arm around her waist and guided her into the main cabin. There was a flat, white box on one of the huge suede seats, and he opened it to pull out a creamy white angora throw. “It can be chilly on some of these flights,” he explained, “and you’ll rest better with this.” Isobel impulsively kissed him on his stubbled cheek, this man always seemed to know how to make her feel more at ease. Looking around the cabin, she marveled at the ridiculously luxurious surroundings. The lights were low, lending a warm glow to the comfortably overstuffed seating. There was a full bar and a corridor that ran to two huge bathrooms. Following her wide eyes, Thomas smiled and stroked her back. “There’s showers on board, so you can tidy up and change before we arrive, if you like.” The way his breathing became heavier in her ear made Isobel understand why she might need to “tidy up.” Feeling her stiffen, he grinned and licked along the soft shell of her ear, enjoying the corresponding shudder. “Not right now, darling. We’ll have dinner after we take off and you can relax.” He felt, rather than heard her relieved exhale. Sliding one hand down over her pelvis, he murmured, “Still a little tender from this afternoon?”

Isobel’s head dropped back against his broad shoulder. The heat from his palm was radiating through the thin material of her dress, warming her suddenly sensitive pussy and making her hips buck a little against his hand. Thomas didn’t wait for an answer, idly rubbing up and down her stomach and smoothing the linen over her hips properly. Pressing his lips against the thin skin of her neck, his teeth suddenly ached to bite into the soft flesh- bite her until she bled, to brand Isobel somehow as his. Thomas knew he was exposing the girl to a certain amount of risk, parading her in front of the murderous board of directors, but he was quite aware they had already discovered that she was his. Nothing was secret amongst the board. 'At least, that’s what they thought,' he grinned internally. Besides, no one would be insane enough to harm what belonged to him. Thomas’s reputation for retaliation was quite well established.

Isobel laughed as she looked down at her dinner. Salmon with truffled wild rice and baby asparagus. Of course. Even jetting across the Atlantic wouldn’t stop Thomas from having the best. “Would you like a glass of wine?” He asked, holding the bottle over a glass for her.

“Are you having one?” She questioned, then smiled at his nod. “Yes, please.”

As Isobel took her first forkful of salmon, she giggled as he began his mock “lecturer” voice. “The Viognier has a more intense flavor. Take a sip,” he urged. “Do you taste the vanilla?” After taking another and holding the wine in her mouth, Isobel nodded. “Very good, this is brought about by a longer aging in an oak barrel, and…” Thomas had taken to teaching her about various wines during some of their dinners. While she enjoyed the education of her palate, the stories he told her about his travels and where he’d found the vintage was the real treat. Watching his face light as Thomas described finding the wine during a trip to the Cape area of South Africa, Isobel felt a powerful surge for him. This Thomas- she loved this man. He was the one who’d taken her home during the holidays from school and listened to her thoughts and worries. Not the cold, ruthless stranger who made her call him ‘Daddy.’ And yet, the way that man made her feel- the helpless arousal, the neediness to be around him, a satellite to his strength- that was a darker part of love. Realizing she'd drifted off, Thomas leaned back, taking another swallow from his glass. "What are you thinking, Isobel?"

She jumped a bit and flushed. "I'm sorry- Daddy!" She remember to add, "I was remembering your stories about the Cape vineyards and the water buffalo..." As his white teeth flashed in a devilish grin, Isobel relaxed again, leaning forward to hear more.

 

"Wake up, little one..." feeling Thomas's warm fingertips stroke her forehead, Isobel's eyes opened abruptly, gazing up at the beautiful face of the man above her. 

""I'm sorry Daddy," she yawned, "I didn't mean to fall asleep." He'd placed her on one of the long couches and covered her with that silky angora throw. Sitting up, the girl smiled sleepily at Thomas, crouched next to her. "What time is it?" 

"About 6am," his said, glancing down at his stainless steel Patek Phillipe. "We landed a couple of hours ago to refuel. We're about 3 hours away from Singapore." Looking back at his lovely doll, the man's expression relaxed, watching her try to rub the sleep from her eyes. Thomas loved that Isobel was so nonchalant about her beauty- no heavy makeup that might be disturbed or elaborate hairstyles that he couldn't sink his fingers into. "Are you hungry, lovely?"

"No," Isobel yawned, "it feels like we ate dinner just moments ago." Sitting up, she took the proffered water bottle and gratefully took a swallow. Thomas looked more at ease this morning, those usual sharp, economical movements of his flowing more as he leaned his long body against hers. He'd changed into lounge pants at some point during the night, and the hard lines of his chest were so close to her. Impulsively, the girl leaned her nose into the crisp hair on his chest and took a sniff. Feeling him shake with laughter against her lips, Isobel looked up, smiling impishly. "You just smell so good," she admitted, "like..."

"Like what?" Thomas asked, seating himself and straddling her over his lap. When her thighs gave a muscle memory tinge from that position from the previous day, he smiled knowingly. 

Flushing, she shook her head, "I don't know, I guess. You smell...familiar. Like I've known that scent my entire life." Looking up again, she found him staring at her strangely. "That sounds daft, doesn't it?" Embarrassed now, Isobel tried to edge off his lap, only to be restrained by those strong hands.

"Not at all," Thomas soothed, "it pleases me. Immensely." Running a hand behind her neck, he pulled her in for a long kiss, running his tongue over her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, enjoying her startled little 'yip!' His other hand moved to her zipper, pulling it down slowly, trailing his fingers against the bare skin beneath it. He loved that little sigh his doll gave when she realized he was going to be inside her in moments, how her thighs would tense, then open. Standing her up, he pushed the dress down over her hips, running his hot mouth over the smooth skin of her stomach.

Isobel's hand jerked to his shoulders, holding her balance as she looked back at the cabin door. "What- what if someone comes in, Daddy?" She asked nervously, looking at him, then back to the door. Groaning as his fingers quickly unclasped her bra and slid it down her arms, the girl looked at him pleadingly.

Taking his mouth away from where he’d been nibbling on one hipbone, Thomas casually said, “I’ll kill the first person who comes through that door.” Feeling her stiffen in horror, he realized who he was speaking to. “I’m joking darling,” he lied soothingly, pulling her against his mouth again, feeling her hand slip through his hair.

“But…” Isobel groaned, trying to concentrate. She didn’t think he’d been joking at all, somehow. But the ripple of fear through her made her nipples harden, a detail that made Thomas latch on to one immediately. “What- what if they just...you know...come...um, in?”

Swiftly laying her out on the sofa, pulling her hair onto the armrest to keep it from being yanked under her back when he thrust into her, Thomas answered thickly, “Then I guess we should hurry, don’t you?” Groaning, he pressed his chest against her breasts, those stiff little nipples rubbing against his skin in the most delightfully distracting way. Yanking her undies off, Thomas pulled one long leg over his hip while hastily yanking down his pants and pulling his cock out. Usually, he employed more care with his sweet doll, toying with her and preparing that tight little cunt for his first thrust. But the man was selfish today and couldn’t wait, hearing Isobel’s pained gasp when he started pushing into her. Shaking his head to clear it, Thomas forced himself to focus. Looking down to see her eyes shut tight, he took a long breath and kissed her, moving to her cheek, then her ear and down that lovely neck. “Shhh,” Thomas soothed, “I’ll go more slowly. Sorry, lovely. I’m too hungry for you. Are you all right?” Poised with only a couple of inches inside her warm channel was torture, but he gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not his doll.

“M’okay,” Isobel’s voice was small, but her hand was still gripping his hair, sliding her fingernails along his scalp in that way that always made him growl. Feeling his thumb come down to stroke her clit lightly, it was her turn to gasp. It was so light- a tickling stimulation opposed to the burning stretch and pull of him just inside her. It always burned at first. But as he moved inside her, making her wet and her opening softer, Isobel would always push her hips up- wanting him deeper. 

Feeling that first inviting push of her pelvis against him, Thomas made a pleased rumble and continued, moving more carefully this time- an inch longer up her, then pulling out until only his tip rested inside her channel, then sliding more of that throbbing cock back in. "Let me in, lovely," he groaned, biting her ear gently and pulling her leg over his shoulder, kissing her wet thigh. His lead lolled back for a moment as he felt Isobel obey him, twisting her hips to settle his cock deeper, her other hand sliding under his arm and clutching the hard muscles on his back. This girl... The feel of her walls tightening against his cock, feeling her tremble, those sweet little gasps and whimpers she didn't know she made- God! Thomas gritted his teeth again, pushing his feet against the armrest to hold inside her. "I'm in you lovely," he managed, "all the way. You're slicking up so sweetly for me. Would you like me to fuck you now?"

Arching her back, Isobel groaned. Not the Voice. Please, don't use the Voice! She was done for if Thomas purred in that sinuous, lurid tone. The murky rumble that promised all sorts of shadowy pleasures if she'd just give in, just open her legs wider and let his sharp hips settle between her thighs. And when he laughed and ran the tip of his tongue up the pulsing vein in her neck, she gave in. "Please Daddy!" She whined, "Please give me more- I need-"

"What do you need?" He whispered in her ear, the voice of Satan, the promise of utterly pleasurable damnation in the snap of his hips, driving his girth up harder inside her. That wicked thumb of his was back- stroking lightly over her hardened button in contrast to the brutal drive of his cock. 

Hearing footsteps outside the thin door to the cabin, Isobel tensed up, the resulting squeeze against Thomas's shaft inside her making him pause with a groan. "There's someone outside," she moaned pleadingly, "they'll come in- they'll hear us- we- OH!" 

“Then you’d better hurry, baby,” he hissed into her ear, rubbing her in harsher circles now. “You’d better come for daddy like a good girl. You don’t want them to see, do you? Coming on daddy’s cock like a nasty little slut?”

Isobel could see the handle on the door turn and she bit down- hard- on Thomas’s neck to muffle her scream as her orgasm tore through her, the heat and agonizing stretch of his cock slamming against her clenching walls making her squeeze her eyes shut, not wanting to see the shocked faces of the flight crew. But she couldn’t stop- her thighs were shaking from the strain of wanting to slam shut, blocked by his driving hips , the growl in his chest as his hands tightened against the soft flesh of her ass, pulling her harder against him. The heat of his finish flooded her, and Isobel melted into the sofa, boneless and still shaking. Opening her eyes, she found Thomas staring down at her with a smug little smile, stroking her cheek as he idly slid back and forth inside her, enjoying the last of her tremors. And she sighed as he kissed her and gloated, “Such a good, good girl for Daddy.” When he'd showered her and dressed Isobel in another beautiful dress and himself in a charcoal grey suit, they heard a knock on the door and Thomas had the nerve to wink at her as he went to answer it, turning the lock on the handle she hadn't noticed.

 

Watching his doll move from one seat to another in the car bringing them from the airport, Thomas felt a fond little smile playing across his lips. Such a sweet girl, his Isobel. Her excited expression made him begin to feel a little lighter, remembering his first time here. His suit wasn’t as expensive and well-fitting then, his intention grim and focused only on showing these arseholes who they were dealing with. And they did, by the time that board meeting was finished. They certainly did. Pushing away the blood-soaked memories, he took her hand and helped her from the car at the Fullerton Bay Hotel. Isobel tried not to let her jaw drop when they entered the soaring lobby. She’d never seen anything like the opulence here, not even at the country mansion the Corporation owned, where she first met Thomas. “Is everyone else staying here?” She asked, her nose leaving a little smudge mark on the glass of the elevator.

“They’re at the Ritz Carlton,” he replied indifferently, “we’ll hold the meetings there.”

Removing her face from where it was glued to the glass, Isobel looked at him curiously. “Wouldn’t it just be easier for us to stay there?”

His eyes were polar when Thomas looked at her again. “No. You and I need...separation. It is better for us.”

Not quite knowing what that meant, the girl still felt a chill and nodded as he took her into their suite. She was eyeing the ridiculously fluffy white bed and wondering if she could jump up and down on it without looking like a toddler when Thomas bent over to give her a kiss. She could hear the tv starting up in the main room as he said “I need to leave for a meeting. Morris and another employee are here to stay with you.”

Flushing, Isobel said, “I’m not a child, Daddy-”

His hands tightened on her arms, then loosened again. “Of course not. But this is a huge and crowded city. Morris will take you sight-seeing or shopping. I won’t be back until late this evening.”

Forcing herself to nod and smile ‘this _is_ a business trip!’ she scolded herself, Isobel kissed him back. “Thank you, Daddy. That sounds wonderful. I’m sure everything will be fine. Good luck at the meeting.”

Sliding his big hands down to her ass, Thomas growled and pushed himself against her. “Believe me, darling. I’d much rather be here with you.”

“I’ll be here when you get back,” she offered, then acting far bolder than she felt, Isobel whispered in his ear, “maybe I’ll shop for something special to surprise you when you come back.”

His sudden, savage kiss told her this was the right move. ‘A very, very good move,’ she thought dazedly as his tongue lashed hers. With an effort, Thomas set her back down and straightened his tie. “No teasing Daddy now,” he warned, looking down at the obvious bulge in his trousers, then settling his suit coat over it with a sigh. Isobel waved as he shut the bedroom door and leaped on to the bed, jumping up and down, knocking the multitude of pillows to the floor.

 


	14. Madame Butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is rather daring. And Thomas is rather appreciative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things become more inconvenient for our lovers after this chapter- by inconvenient, I mean lots of murderous blood-shedding assholes all wanting to cock things up in a rather spectacular way. They really deserve one sexy night together, don't they?

It wasn't sightseeing, Isobel mused. It was throwing herself into the melee of color and cacophony and reveling in the madness of it all. Singapore was alive in a visceral way she'd never felt before- the stores, the architecture, the jostle of bodies and honking of many car horns, all at once. The girl knew she was grinning ridiculously, but it was all such a rush. 

“Miss Cameron.” Morris’s usually staid tone was strained, and Isobel could tell her handler was struggling with his instinct to throw her in the car and force her return to the safety of the hotel suite.

“I’m sorry, Morris,” she apologized, immediately remorseful, she would never want him to have to face an angry Thomas.

The man’s tight-set lips told her that Morris was on the edge of his anxiety/tolerance balance, so she smiled nervously. “I’ll stay right next to you, all right? I promise to not run ahead any more.” Discreetly mopping his brow, her driver nodded.

“Very well. Now, I know you wished to shop. Shall I take you to the Paragon district?”

Reluctantly nodding, Isobel forced a smile and walked back to the car trailing them. Looking dubiously out at the elaborate glassed monstrosity, she could see all the stores with the ridiculously expensive labels she recognized from London- Gucci, Prada and the rest. Suddenly embarrassed, she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “I’d just- I’d just like to walk around, Morris. Is that all right?”

“It is your shopping trip, Miss Cameron.” The man’s face was expressionless again, back in his center since his charge was in a safe area and not racing back and forth from one open-market stall to another. Taking her to the Bugis Street Market was a mistake. All those locals! No uniformed security, steam obscuring the little market stalls and blocking his clear view of any threats. Now, this expensive shopping mall was a different story.

A little deflated, Isobel started walking, looking into store windows and hesitating at a shop entrance. She did _not_ want Morris following her into a lingerie store- please, god! Agent Provocateur was at least recognizable, but the thought of Thomas’s over-muscled employee trailing her as the girl shopped for G-strings was too humiliating to bear. “Could you just- could you wait outside, Morris?” Isobel finally pleaded.

Taking a smidgen of pity on the blushing girl, Morris shook his head regretfully. “I’m to follow you everywhere, Miss Cameron…” seeing her gloomy expression, he altered his statement. “But I shall stand by the entrance, yes?”

With a grateful nod, Isobel took a deep breath and plunged into the ocean of fabric and color and price tags so alarming that she refused to allow herself to look. Thomas had given her a credit card before he left that afternoon.

 

“Here, Isobel. Take this for your trip.” Taking the Coutts Silk card from his long fingers, she looked at him quizzically.

“It has my name on it?”

That beautiful mouth quirked, and Thomas ran his hand down her cheek. “Of course, lovely. Rather a requirement to go shopping, don’t you think?” There it was, he thought, the Chin. When his doll was feeling rebellious, her pointed chin would jut out aggressively. He was certain Isobel had no idea she was offering a ‘tell,’ but Thomas was a man who survived this long by being able to read everyone around him.

“I have my own money, Daddy. I tutored for art and maths class while I was at school-”

“That’s lovely, darling,” Thomas cut her off smoothly. “But why don’t you save that money and use the card here? Our shopping trip to Selfridge’s was meant to be just the beginning of building a wardrobe for you.” He actually laughed at the look of horror on his doll’s face. Isobel was not an enthusiastic shopper.

 

Still, gripping her messenger bag securely, Isobel picked out a few slips and teddies she thought Thomas might like. She felt wildly sophisticated- a woman of the world- shopping for sexy lingerie for her lover- until she looked at the total as the clerk began carefully embracing the bits of lace and silk in filmy tissue paper. "That will be £953, Miss." The pretty woman waiting on her smiled pleasantly, waiting for Isobel to proffer a credit card. 

'Nine hundred and fifty-three bloody pounds?' The girl gasped to herself. 'I- I can't spend Thomas's money- not that much!" Morris slid to her side, looking at her with a polite nudge to her wallet. 

"Didn't Mr. Williams give you a card, Miss Cameron?" He murmured, too low for the curious clerk to hear him. "If not, I have a Corporation card as well-"

"No!" It came out a little louder than Isobel meant it to, but she flushed and smiled at the woman. "I'm terribly sorry, I have to leave. Perhaps I'll come back another time." Morris bristled at the thinly veiled look of contempt on the store clerk's face, but his charge had already left the store. "Can you take me back to the Bugis Street Market, please?"

Groaning internally, the man mopped his perspiring face and led Isobel to the car.

 

Sitting on the bed and singing along with "Trolls" dubbed in Mandarin, Isobel finished the coconut curry sent up from room service, tingling with excitement about surprising Thomas. She'd managed to track back to the tiny store wedged between two Bak Kwa stalls in the open-air market, trying on a few different items before finding the one she liked. There was a salon labeled in painful English as "Beauty DeLite" down the way, and Isobel ducked in there to get her hair styled and a little makeup advice. When her phone buzzed with a text that read simply "On my way," she leaped off the bed and into the shower.

"How was the shopping trip?" Thomas loosened his tie while he questioned Morris, who looked exhausted. They were standing in the main room of the suite, the double doors to the bedroom shut. He could faintly hear his doll's pretty voice singing something about "Dance, Dance, Dance," and Thomas's mouth quirked, just slightly.

"Very well, Sir." The proper British tone soothed his concerns, Thomas suddenly eager to get through those doors and inside his lovely little doll. "Miss Cameron was most...enthusiastic about exploring the city," Morris said, watching as the cold visage of his employer almost cracked a smile.

Still focused on Isobel's shy promise of a surprise upon his return, Thomas merely nodded distractedly and waved Morris off, instructing placement of guards loyal only to him around the perimeter of the suite. Opening the bedroom doors, he called out, "Where is my little one? Hmm?" He was looking down at a text from Number One when a little cough drew his attention. 

Naturally, Thomas expected some sort of sexy surprise upon his return, perhaps some exotic lingerie- not too exotic, since he knew Isobel could never bring herself to be _that_ daring- but something expensive and lacy. Instead, a demure figure in an exquisite silk kimono- slit high to the thigh on each side- knelt on the huge white expanse of the bed. Her hair glistened in a traditional updo that enhanced the green gown, long lashes turned down demurely with a delicate swoop of eyeliner to enhance her almond-shaped eyes with cupid's bow of red lipstick. His own precious doll.

As those lashes fluttered up to show the gleam of her pale sea green eyes, wildly erotic with the subtle black eyeliner, Thomas groaned. He could already feel his unmanageable cock swelling almost violently, he wanted to tear that dress off her and dive inside those heavenly thighs.

“Welcome home Daddy,” Isobel said demurely.

Dropping his cell phone on the floor, Thomas stalked towards her, yanking off his suit jacket. “Why lovely…” he purred, “what a delightful surprise.” He could see his Isobel fight down a giggle, wanting to stay in character.

“Let me- let me take care of that, Daddy,” she smiled, those pretty lashes lowered now in a delightfully proper way as Isobel reached for his shirt, slipping each button free, then the cufflinks from his wrists before peeling the shirt from his hard chest. Thomas stifled a growl when he felt her nails scrape just enough against the skin on his back. He stood still, allowing the girl to undress him carefully, folding his expensive suit on a chair before pressing her silk-clad front to his bare back, rubbing her pelvis against the underside of his ass.

“Why, darling,” Thomas was speaking more in a growl than his usual cultured tones, “aren’t you full of utterly delightful qualities this evening.” He felt her tongue fluttering against his ear as the faintest giggle reached his hearing.

“Maybe you’d let me help you relax,” she whispered, grateful he was facing away from her. It was hard enough to play the role without those keen sapphire eyes watching her. Unbuckling his trousers from the back, Isobel drew down his zipper, sliding his long legs free from the suit along with his shoes and socks. Pressing herself against his broad back again, the girl swallowed hard and placed her hands on the taut cheeks of his ass, stroking and squeezing him, and when Thomas groaned, daringly sliding one hand to his flat belly, sliding down to the noticeable bulge under the fine cotton of his boxer briefs. He was hot against her hand, she thought, his- that part of him so swollen with blood and already leaking. Thomas's hips jerked and she pulled her hand away, startled. 

"I'm sorry, Daddy, I was-"

"Shhhh." His voice was dark and guttural now, and Isobel shuddered in response. "Put your hand on me again, little one."

Folding his longer fingers over hers, Thomas guided her to squeeze his cock harder, pulling more aggressively. “You won’t hurt me.” Feeling her nod against his shoulder blade, his dark head dropped back. Who was this delicious little geisha? When her hands went to his hips, urging him on to the bed, Thomas acquiesced, lounging back against the pillows and watching Isobel stare at his reddened cock, stretching to his belly button and taut against his stomach. “Yes, baby,” he soothed, beginning to idly stroke himself, “you did this to me. Now, what else do you have planned for me, little girl?” Isobel’s chin lowered as her hand went to the side of the dress, slowly unzipping it as those sea glass eyes glinted at him from under her lashes. Suddenly, Thomas realized she was mirroring the look of filthy intent he gave her when he was about to fuck her. Rubbing his hand along that painfully engorged shaft, the haughty Number Two of the most vicious corporation in Europe hoped he wouldn’t come all over his own chest before getting inside his luscious little surprise. It wasn’t the most practiced strip tease he’d seen, but Isobel’s natural grace was wildly erotic as she attempted to remove her pretty silk dress and skimpy undies while looking alluring and mysterious. When she put one knee, then the other on the bed and began crawling to him, Thomas was forced to squeeze his cock- hard- to keep himself from an embarrassing end. 

"I want to kiss you, Daddy." Isobel whispered, feeling quite unlike herself in her mysterious makeup, making her feel like someone else- a geisha gifted with the kind of exotic knowledge to drive a man to distraction. She felt his hand slide along the sleek lines of her pinned hair as she placed a long, pouting kiss on the tip of his cock. 

For a man as profoundly demanding in bed as Thomas was, he’d never pressured Isobel into oral sex. He’d pin her down and eat her out constantly, but only every now and then would his hand slide on to her shoulder and gently press her down. He patiently murmured words of encouragement, instructing her in what felt best to him without pushing and pulling at her. But Isobel had never initiated it before- never initiated anything sexual, really, with her intimidating new Daddy. Closing her eyes as his deep voice groaned encouragement, she slid his thick length carefully down her throat. Gagging as she tried to take him further, the girl retreated in frustration.

“No, lovely, you were doing beautifully. Believe me, a man can be flattered by such a sound.” Thomas’s usually chilly voice was warmer, even deeper than usual as he gently issued instructions. “Lift your chin- there you go. Keep your throat relaxed. Ah...ah, yes, my beautiful girl…” Lifting her mouth off his desperately throbbing cock, he gave her a mischievous look as his hands slid to her hips and lifted her easily over his face, ignoring her startled squeal. Firmly planting her sensitive center on his mouth, Thomas gave a feral growl to see his doll had shaved bare. From there, it was a blur- his hot mouth biting her swelling lips, tongue sliding along her sensitive slit and jabbing into her channel. Isobel tried to wiggle away when her impending orgasm was forced on her, but his big hands gripped her ass harder, gleefully rubbing his nose on her exposed clitoris, drinking her down.

“Daddy…” she finally whined, “please- too much!” This caused her diabolical lover to give her pussy a large, shamelessly sloppy lick with the flat of his tongue before pulling away. The sight of his prurient smile and glistening chin made Isobel shudder- this wildly erotic man who owned her, body and soul- who could _ever_ say "no" to this man? Suddenly flipping her on his lap, Thomas moved up to lean against the padded headboard on the bed, pulling the girl's back to his front.

Kicking Isobel's legs wider to rest them over his spread ones he kissed along her neck, then whispered into her ear. "My perfect little Geisha," he purred, "what an exquisite creature you are." Lifting her easily by her waist, Thomas raised the girl over his cock and began sliding her down slowly. Enjoying that little hitch in her breath as the broad tip of his shaft popped inside her, Thomas began moving Isobel up and down, spreading her wet lips with two fingers to enjoy the sight of his slick cock pushing in and out of her. He could feel the goosebumps sprout up her neck and down her arms as he hissed into her ear in his darkest, most persuasive voice. "If this was a century ago, I would be a wealthy businessman, come to the exotic delights of Singapore and looking for release after a long day of business..." two fingers tweaked her left nipple, and Isobel gave the sweetest whimper. "...I would visit an elegant, private club and ask for the acquaintance of their most beautiful 'hostess.' Isobel's head dropped like a rock to his shoulder. 

The Voice. _Damn_ him.

"...you would be so very shy, darling. At first, I would simply think you coy, until I realized how sweet and unspoiled you were. You would dance for me- something lovely and delicate. And then I would watch you undress for me, just as you did here, my delicious Geisha. And then..." Here, Thomas's voice hardened, thickened into more a of rumble as his hands pulled her nearly off his cock, then slammed her down again, enjoying Isobel's startled yelp. "I would fuck you relentlessly with my Britishman's cock. Over and over through the night. When you finally collapsed into sleep, I would find the owner and free you from your obligation to the club- and I would bring you home to London with me, playing with my delicate Geisha doll every night. Fucking a baby into you-" Isobel could hear the wet slapping sound of her ass hitting his lean thighs, his fingers digging hard enough into her hips to leave purple-gray reminders the next day. "-treasuring you, lovely. There would be no one as beautiful, as exquisite as you in all of Great Britain. And you. Would. Be. Mine!" The final series of hard thrusts, punctuated by each word gritted from his teeth sent both Thomas and Isobel into a howling orgasm, shuddering and tightening, thrusting and gripping against each other. Falling back against his heaving, sweating chest, the girl tried to catch her breath. 'That dress was a good purchase,' she thought dazedly. 'A _very_ good purchase.'

It wasn't until after Thomas tenderly bathed her, spreading coconut oil on her skin and brushing her hair loose from it's elaborate style that Isobel's brain started firing on all synapses again. And it was just as she fell asleep, held securely in the circle of her daddy's arms that the girl realized with a chill that the sexy turn of the century fantasy Thomas spun as he fucked her was really, pretty much the modern day version of her life.

 


	15. A Lesson On The Spots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel receives a hands-on lesson on the female anatomy. Also, helpful pharmacy clerks, hateful Southerners and dour bodyguards.

Thomas eyed the numbers on the lift's screen, watching them add up to their floor. "Stop shaking like that." His eloquent voice dripped contempt.

"I'm sorry..." Isobel managed to utter the apology/plea in a whisper, and he made an elegantly irritable noise. 

"This would be a good time to stop talking, little girl."

Staring at the lift doors, she widened her eyes to keep the tears from spilling over. How could things have gone so terribly wrong so quickly?

 

"Good morning, my lovely Geisha..." Isobel was torn between whimpering for mercy or begging for more. Thomas was incapable of being satiated after their lurid night. He'd taken her from a deep sleep into a nearly instant orgasm the second time, then coaxed her clitoris- and the rest of her- awake before the sunrise for a third time as he rolled the girl on her belly and took her from behind, whispering filthy suggestions in that dark, silky way he had. This time, her beautiful and frightening daddy was inching his fat cock into her sore pussy slowly, teasingly. He'd slide in a bit, feel the stretch and pull of her and glide out to the tip, just to stretch and pull her channel again. 

Licking her dry lips, her sleep-deprived mind tried to focus. "Good morning...Daddy." Isobel dimly felt those sinuous hips roll against her on that first thrust. "Oh! Oh...you're...it's..."

"Shhhh..." Thomas soothed, kissing her nose, each cheekbone and then her mouth, gleefully choking off the pleasurable gasp his doll made every time he pushed into her. "Be still, darling, I'll do all the work." Feeling her sleek body relax against this, the man hid his grin in her chestnut curls. Isobel had come so far since her first time, crying softly and shaking as he'd taken her virginity with great satisfaction. Now, he knew by the subtle way she moved her hips that all she needed was a straight-up fuck on her back in order to come like a rocket.

However, Thomas was craving something else. So standing up, he pushed a ruthless hand against her mouth as the movement shoved his prodigious cock up and through her cervix. Walking casually into the living room, he felt her ass twitch against his balls, trying desperately to regain control as her legs tightened around his waist. "Good girls get to come," he promised in that whisper. "Are you a good girl?"

Isobel would have attempted a more intellectual response, but the intense pressure of his cock impaled in her- moving and jerking as he walked was at once painful and ridiculously arousing. The attempt to decide which sensation had the upper hand rendered her speechless.

Thomas’s hand gripped her ass and jerked her up and dropped her back down on him, giving her an unholy smile as Isobel gave a startled scream in response. “Daddy asked you a question, babygirl.”

“I- uh, I…” The poor girl was unwisely attempting to take some of the painful pressure of that cock driving upwards so hard that she could feel it by her bellybutton, but she was doing it by squeezing her strong thighs against Thomas’s hips, which then tightened her stomach muscles and in return her channel so much that she felt him literally wedge into a stop inside her. Two things happened: her dark Daddy came almost instantly, groaning as he spurted so hard inside her that it pushed out and all over his balls and their thighs. The second was a corresponding orgasm from Isobel, screaming again as her heat and pressure wedged his shaft right into the A spot just under her cervix. She buried her face in his neck and started weeping in humiliation, feeling the lush flow of their combined finish dripping down her buttocks.

Thomas leaned against the back of the sofa for a moment, waiting for his legs to regain strength, so it took him a moment to realize his sweet doll was crying. “Darling girl, what’s wrong?”

His shoulder was already wet, so he hoped those were only tears when Isobel rubbed her nose on him. “I’m so sorry, Daddy! I’m so embarrassed I don’t know how I did that I’m so very-”

Leaning back to pull her chin out of his neck, those troubled denim colored eyes examined Isobel's mortified expression. "What do you think you did, Lovely?" Thomas groaned internally as her lower lip started to tremble again.

"I don't know how I- I'm so-"

"Not that _again_ ," Thomas interrupted her, "what do you think you _did?"_

"I wet myself!" Isobel blurted, horrified, "all over you and-"

This time, Thomas groaned aloud. He knew his doll didn't understand what happened and that he needed to appear to be kind and sympathetic, but her hitching sobs were also making her rub against him in a very distracting way, and if he'd lost any of his erection, this made it come roaring back. Shifting to pull himself out a bit, Thomas was rewarded with another arousing gush of his Isobel's delightful, juicy finish. Unfortunately, the girl also felt it and burst into fresh sobs of consternation. 'It's over!' She thought desperately, 'Thomas would never stay with someone so stupid that they wet themselves!' Crying harder at the thought, it didn't occur to her then to wonder why- as his property, as his _captive_ \- it upset her so much to think he'd end the arrangement.

Thomas took her hand and ran it through the slick wetting their hips and thighs, then put it to his mouth. Ignoring her shocked gasp of "-wait, Daddy don't do that!" Running his tongue up and down her slim fingers, his eyes crinkled at her completely appalled expression.

"Isobel. Lovely. You didn't wet yourself." Arching his hips, he smiled as his doll yelped and held tighter to his shoulders. Turning to put her ass on the back of the sofa, Thomas angled his cock inside her. "You remember me teaching you about your G-spot, yes?" Her head dropped lower until he thrust up, rubbing hard against the aforementioned spot.

Digging her heels into his flexing ass, she nodded. "Yes, Daddy..." Isobel mumbled, too embarrassed to look at what she knew would be a smug, indulgent smile.

"Very good," Thomas praised. Pushing his cock up higher inside her as one hand went on the small of her back, he pushed her hips forward as he continued, "There is also another delightful place inside that clutching little pussy of yours. You do remember how it feels when I come to the top of you inside, where there's no where else to go?" Those sinuous hips of his were circling idly, one way, then the other as it made the silky tip of his shaft stroke against her cervix again. "This is your A spot, Darling." Putting the heel of his other hand over her belly button, Thomas pressed in, enjoying her corresponding moan. "Feel that?" He murmured, leaning close to her ear, hearing Isobel's soft little pants as she tried to regain control over what she was feeling, "I can feel you from inside and out. And..." the man continued pushing his cock and hand against her, enjoying her long, drawn-out sigh. 

“...I can make you go off without ever touching your tender little clit if I do this…” Isobel grabbed tighter to his shoulders as his hand slid from the small of her back to just below the cleft of her buttocks, pressing in just under the bone with two strong fingers. “This is your K spot, Lovely. And when I press both, just so..."

Isobel was not a screamer. She was a well-bred English girl who’d learned to be quiet from years of living under her parent’s irritable orbit. But when his hands and fingers and cock all pressed into her wildly overstimulated channel, every silken muscle there spasmed violently and she screamed. Like a banshee she screamed, not even hearing Thomas chuckle and then groan as the twist and clench of her walls sent him off, too. Not even caring that she could feel another rush of slick pour- _pour_ from between his rigid, burrowing cock and her pussy. “Oh…” she managed, throat a little sore from the shriek she was fairly sure was echoing down the hallway, “please stop, Daddy! My skin’s on fire and I- oh, GOD!” Another wanton yowl ripped from her as his breathless laugh vibrated all over her body, swirling out of her channel and down her legs, making her toes point rigidly.

This time, Thomas pulled his fingers away to rub her back soothingly as he waited for her to stop shaking. Inside, his emotions were blurry, he felt confused. He’d always enjoyed making a woman come, enjoyed the helplessness he created by tipping them into a powerful orgasm, studying their faces as they shook and moaned. But he always felt separated from them, other than the pleasures their bodies gave him physically. But...this little girl, this delightfully _loud_ little thing- when Isobel came the second time, her huge eyes- green as seawater- opened wide to stare into his. And suddenly, Thomas could feel her orgasm pour into his, feeling them both shudder against his spine, feeling her heart pounding against the hard muscle and bone over his. The resulting surge of tenderness and connection nearly swamped him. Laying her on the couch, he separated from her with an embarrassingly loud squelch, his thighs wet and cock dripping. Walking just a tad unsteadily to the bathroom, he fetched a towel and a wet cloth to tidy her. 

"What I'd meant to explain before we both became...distracted, is that you gushed, Darling. You had such an intense orgasm that your body poured out all this delightful slick. You didn't pee on me. You gushed." Thomas grinned down at Isobel's horrified, beet-red face. Kissing her under her ear, he whispered, "It is a compliment to me, there's nothing sexier." Enjoying her little groan, he carried her into the bedroom. 

Isobel was already nearly half-asleep when he pulled up the covers over those pink-tipped breasts he enjoyed so much. "Daddy...I should get up..." she managed, "I could order you breakfast while you dress."

Kissing her forehead, Thomas shook his head. "No, sweetheart, I'll need to leave right away. I fear I lost track of time with all your...distractions this morning." Enjoying her flushed cheeks, he kissed her again. "Get some rest and take a hot bath. I'll let you know what we're doing today later on. Don't go out today."

"Okay, Daddy," she promised sleepily, "I won't."

 

But apparently, her handsome owner did not share this order with Morris. When Isobel woke and took her bath, she was so sore that she could hardly move. Even sitting down was a misery and she was alarmed at the thought of anyone from the Corporation seeing her stiff movements and knowing why. So after slowly putting a pretty yellow sundress, Isobel walked into the living room to find Morris seated stiffly, reading a copy of the New York Times. Brown eyes raising over the paper’s edge to hers, he intoned, “Good morning, Miss Cameron.”

Smiling, the girl shook her head. “Why don’t you just call me Isobel, Morris? Would you?”

Surveying her over the Times, Morris cleared his throat and said, “No.” before returning to his paper.

Brows drawn together, the girl picked up her messenger bag. “I need to find a pharmacy, I believe there’s one just down the block from here.”

Morris abruptly closed his paper and stood with some concern. “I can order anything you need to be delivered here, Miss Cameron. Just tell me-”

“No!” Taking a moment, Isobel composed herself, trying not to blush. There was absolutely no way she was ever going to explain to this expressionless bodyguard that her Daddy had more or less fucked the living daylights out of her and that she could barely walk. “Come on, Morris,” she entreated, “it’s just a short walk. The fresh air will do us good.”

Dubiously eyeing the smoggy landscape outside the floor to ceiling windows, the man stood nonetheless and led the way to the door.

 

It was Isobel’s good fortune that the little pharmacy had a pleasant clerk around her age who listened to the girl’s uncomfortable request in her pretty Mandarin and nodded her head sympathetically. Putting her purchase into her leather satchel, Isobel was walking out the shop’s door when she nearly bumped into someone. “Oh, I’m very sorry-” Isobel began in Mandarin, before switching to English as she recognized the amused, condescending smile of the woman in front of her.

“Well, goodness. It’s Thomas’s darling little friend from the ballet.” That annoying Southern smirk instant put Isobel’s guard up. Magnolia. As if she’d ever forget that name or the redhead in front of her.

Forcing a polite smile, she held out a hand. “Isobel Cameron.”

The woman ignored her outstretched hand, “Oh, I know that,” she said dismissively. “You’re the pretty little 18 year old daughter of one of our employees.”

Isobel felt a chill, seeing those hazel eyes look her up and down as if trying to see the appeal to Thomas. Morris was at her back immediately, taking her elbow and trying to draw her away. “Miss Cameron,” he murmured, “we must return to the hotel. Mr Williams is on his way.”

“Now don’t be silly!” Magnolia’s sharp voice cut over his. “Ah was just with Thomas at the board meeting and ah know he’s meetin’ with the numbers One and Three before our dinner tonight.” Her shrewd eyes darted back to Isobel, who was watching her warily.

The girl had gone still, examining the new threat carefully borne from years of experience in keeping herself- and Ari- out of harm’s way. This loud Southerner did not like her. That was clear, but she wasn’t sure if it was because she was a former lover of her Daddy’s or something else.

“So, let’s you and I have a drink, honey.” Magnolia’s voice broke in on another hushed request from Morris to leave. Isobel began to shake her head, but the redhead stepped closer. “Just in the hotel bar, silly!” The woman was staring at Morris challengingly, “Nice and safe so your girl isn’t out and all exposed.”

Isobel felt a chill from the curious statement, so she nodded quickly to end the standoff between her driver and this alarming woman. “Fine. Let’s walk back.” It occurred to her to wonder how Magnolia knew their hotel, since she was quite sure Thomas would never had discussed it, but she walked quickly, trying to get this odd meeting over with as soon as possible.

 

Magnolia’s eyes watched the girl seated across from her as she sipped her bourbon. Isobel’s back was straight, hands in her lap with an untouched glass of wine in front of her. The girl didn’t seem frightened, just merely assessing. “How long have you been on the board of directors for the Corporation?” She suddenly asked, trying to look assertive.

It didn’t work, the redhead chuckled and swirled her drink. “Oh, goodness honey. I have a long, long history with Thomas and the rest of the boys.”

“Do you work in finance as well,” Isobel said politely, “or capital funding?”

Magnolia let out a delightful peal of laughter, making men around them look up. “Now, now. Didn’t your daddy tell you talking about money is impolite?” For a horrified moment, Isobel thought she was referring to Thomas and knew what she called him, until the woman continued. “Of course I know about your daddy. Alistair works under our Thomas, doesn’t he?” She didn’t miss how the girl’s jaw clenched.

“Yes.” Isobel answered flatly, there was no reason to deny it, since it was obvious the jealous Southerner had done her research. “Are you enjoying Singapore?”

Taking another gulp of her drink and signaling for another, Magnolia leaned back. “Mah personal shopper is,” she grinned like a shark, “I’m sure Thomas probably uses the same one for you that he did for me. He doesn’t like change.”

It felt like a visceral punch in the stomach, but Isobel forced a smile. “I wouldn’t know. Shopping bores me.” The other woman leaned across the table, those honey-brown eyes digging into hers.

“Well, that’s the only thing about Thomas that’s boring, right, honey? I mean, the man’s got a dick on him-”

"Magnolia.”

Hearing the steel-edged tone on her lover’s voice felt like a bucket of cold water just went down Isobel’s spine. She could feel how close he was standing behind her, his heat radiating down her bare back. Putting his hands on her shoulders, Thomas continued in that same terrifyingly flat tone. “Isobel, it’s time to go. We have plans.”

The redhead grinned maliciously, “Why don’t you sit down, honey? This little girl an I were just havin a nice talk.”

“Not today,” Thomas said calmly, but the chill in his tone sent goosebumps sprouting up Isobel’s arms. Standing instantly, she forced a smile at the gloating Magnolia.

“It was lovely to see you again,” she said with her best finishing school courtesy, and turned to be led away to what she was certain would not be a pleasant afternoon.

 

"Stop shaking like that." His eloquent voice dripped contempt.

"I'm sorry..." Isobel managed to utter the apology/plea in a whisper, and he made an elegantly irritable noise. 

"This would be a good time to stop talking, little girl."

Staring at the lift doors, she widened her eyes to keep the tears from spilling over. How could things have gone so terribly wrong so quickly? The mirrored doors opened and Thomas took Isobel by her upper arm, heading down the hallway to their room quickly enough that the girl had to trot a little to keep up. Looking over her shoulder, Isobel caught a faint look of regret on the stoic face of Morris as she was ushered into their suite and the door slammed shut.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of mentioned a "spanky" kind of chapter to some of you, but I couldn't put the narrative together properly. Another chapter before tomorrow. Promise!


	16. An Afternoon Adagio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel learns about her own endurance and self-discipline.
> 
> Trigger warnings for intense punishment, spanking, the using of implements.

 

Hearing the door shut behind her made Isobel shake harder. She was ashamed of herself for looking so weak, pressing her lips together to keep from letting a sob escape. How could she have been so stupid? That horrible woman did not like her. Could she have set up the entire meeting just to toy with Thomas? The man in question was watching her, arms folded in that beautiful blue suit of his. 

"What did I tell you to do this morning, Isobel?"

Thomas's voice was deceptively calm, but she knew him well enough to hear the fury behind it. "You t-told me to stay at the hotel." She was looking down at her hands, twisting together when she saw his gleaming shoes appear in front of her. 

"And what did you do?" 

Isobel swallowed a sob. Crying wouldn't improve this situation. "I needed something at the pharmacy. It was just down the street!"

It took him a moment to speak, and when he did, Thomas's voice was choked with fury. "Why didn't you send Morris? What did you require so desperately that you ignored my SPECIFIC. REQUEST?"

Raising her eyes just enough to see his sculpted jaw, Isobel shuddered. He was gritting his teeth, and while his expression remained cool, she knew he was incandescent with rage. "It's not Morris's fault," she gulped, "he tried to have me tell him so he could have it delivered, but-"

"Then why DID. YOU. NOT, Isobel?" 

Choking on another sob, she blurted, "I was- there was- I was so sore and I couldn't say those things to Morris! I thought I could just-" Her parents had raised their voices to her, many times. But never with the clipped fury that made her certain she was about to die. "It hurt just to sit down! I wanted to-"

"Enough. Take off your panties and lean over the table." Thomas was looking away from her, looking perfectly composed, but Isobel knew better.

"Please, Daddy? Please don't hurt me!" To her humiliation, she started sobbing, terrified of his expression. She'd only seen it once before, when a homeless man had stepped between him and her to ask her for some money. She'd been certain in that moment that Thomas was going to kill the older man, drunk and still oblivious to his imminent peril. Even while she begged him, Isobel was slipping off her underwear and drawing up her skirt. His hand came up to the back of her neck as he shoved her down, face-first to the table. 

"How did you disobey me today, Little Doll?"

Her crying has transferred into hiccuping sobs as Isobel answered him, instinctively gripping the sides of the table. "I dis- dis-disobeyed you and l-left the hotel." She shrieked when she felt his hand slam down on her unprotected bottom.

"Yes, you did." Thomas's voice held that terrifying steel-like sheen again, as if his words alone could slice her open, bare veins and blood to the world. "Skipping out like a little fool to pick up-" Isobel could hear the rustling of a paper bag as he pulled out her purchase, "-to pick up numbing cream. You risked your life for aloe lotion, you ridiculous child? REALLY?"

"Risk my life?" Isobel's sobs stopped as she puzzled over his strange statement. Out of nowhere, that odd comment from the hateful Magnolia surfaced from their encounter outside the drugstore. "How would visiting the pharmacy risk my life, I don't- AH! THOMAS, STOP!" He'd never spanked her so hard. 

She’d always been fascinated with the size of Thomas’s hands- even as a schoolgirl and watching them tighten on the steering wheel of his Jaguar as he'd drive her home. Huge hands, competent. Always rough and calloused, even though he was a businessman and not a laborer. Those hands had stroked her in a thousand different ways, smoothed her hair back from her face, placed on the small of her back to guide her safely through crowds, even wiped away her tears with infinite delicacy. But now, slamming down on the tender skin of her bottom, they were a weapon. One still held Isobel by the back of her neck while the other administered another acutely painful slap on her left cheek, then the right.

Looking down at her reddened skin, Thomas took a breath in through his nose, holding it for a moment as he attempted to pull himself back. His anger was cold, controlled. Not hot and instinctive, the way it felt now. ‘Steady,’ he warned himself, ‘you’d lose control over this little girl?’ Pushing her skirt up higher on her back, Thomas watched his hand tremor, gripping it into a fist. His doll was still shaking with fear, though her tears had died down. He could see the movement of her hitching breath under the frail wings of her shoulder blades, sliding beneath her skin as she gripped the table. Flattening his hand again, Thomas laid it over her ass, the palm covering the right globe and his fingers caressing the left. Watching her turn rigid, he smiled unkindly. Isobel hated how he’d stroke and play with her in the middle of a spanking, furious that he’d make her relax for a moment under his gentle hand, just to be startled out of it by the next strike. It made it that much more painful...which is exactly why he did it. "Are you ready to begin?" That low purr was unsettling. "I asked you a question, little girl."

"Yes, Daddy." Isobel hissed, he could feel her frustration and fury radiate from those two words.

"Very good." The sound of his palm striking her ass echoed in the room.

"O-o-one! Thank you, Daddy." Thomas watched her hands grip the table's edge.

"Two! Thank- thank you Daddy."

"Mmmmm- three! Thank you, Daddy."

After fifteen slaps across his doll's luscious bottom, Thomas had to switch hands, his left was almost as red and stinging as her ass. He always preferred to use his hand for a punishment, enjoying the feel of his skin striking hers. And the discomfort made him share the moment with her more closely, more than his belt would. A low growl came from Isobel as his long fingers stroked along her silky slit, circling just so to gather a little moisture sparkling in her pussy. Another thing he knew she resented- when he made her _enjoy_ her discipline. Idly running the slick along her bare lips, Thomas smiled to see them begin to swell a little. When he felt her relax into his touch, his hand came back to slap her kitty, enjoying her shriek.

"Oooo! Damn- damn- sixteen, thank you Daddy."

"Language, Lovely." He admonished, which he knew enraged her further. His broad palm stung pleasantly as Thomas swiped it across both cheeks. By the time they'd finally, painfully reached thirty, the afternoon sunlight was arching across the room, illuminating Isobel's violently red ass beautifully. Thomas was completely back in control, his polar blue eyes distant as he rubbed his hand soothingly across her back. "Such a good girl," he leaned down to kiss the back of her neck, wiping her hair away from her sweaty face. "You took your spanking so well." When Isobel tried to rise, his hand gently pushed her down again.

 

At first, Isobel heaved a sigh of relief when she heard a jar open, and Thomas's hand begin to stoke some kind of gel over her ass. It was different than usual, more like Vaseline than a lotion and with an antiseptic scent. Her skin began feeling softer again, and the girl's grip on the table loosened, only to tighten again at his dark chuckle. "With being in Singapore, I thought it only appropriate to bring a new toy into play with you. But I fear you require more than a 'love tap' to understand the seriousness of your mistake." His deep, resonant voice was calm, but there was something there that made Isobel start shaking again.

"I thought- aren't we done, Daddy?" Isobel blinked away her tears quickly, "I thought we were-"

"No, Darling, we aren't finished." Suddenly, his handsome face was right next to hers as Thomas knelt beside her- she could see the slight stubble on his face, the intent look in those pale eyes. She could smell his cologne, the crisp scent of starched cotton and fine wool. Isobel could even catch a trace of herself on him, as if he'd worn her orgasm as something to savor that day in his meetings. "What did you do today?" Thomas stroked her hair as he waited.

Swallowing with some difficulty, Isobel whispered, "I didn't stay in the hotel as you asked?"

"Very good," he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "And then?"

"I- don't...I suppose because I spoke to your colleague?"

His hand tightened a fraction in her hair, then loosened. "Do you remember at the ballet, Darling, when I specifically did not introduce you to that...woman?" The last was spoken in a tone of distaste, as if someone had spit on his shoe. "There is always a reason for what I do, sweet girl. Magnolia is not someone to trifle with. I didn't want you to have any contact with her, any connection at all."

Isobel's forehead wrinkled, trying to understand him. "Why didn't you just tell me this, Daddy?"

When she looked back to him, Thomas's eyes were blazing flame blue. "Because I shouldn't have to, _Darling."_ He spat, "Because you should have obeyed me and you would not have been put in the position of running into that viper. Because when Morris tried to return you to the hotel, you resisted! Because when I tell you to do something, it is for your safety, and that should be enough!"

Thomas stood back for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, allowing a couple of curls to move from the smooth shape. When he looked back down to her, Isobel felt a moment of incandescent terror. These were the eyes of a killer. Someone with no remorse and no soul. 

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice, like a little girl. “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

This time, when Thomas met her gaze his eyes were kind, his smile understanding. “I know, little one. I do. But that doesn’t mean you have learned your lesson.” He raised his hand and her eyes widened, horrified. Thomas was holding a long, thin, flexible looking object. “This is a cane, Isobel. It’s used here in Singapore for criminal punishment. It’s meant to cause a great deal of pain, and it can maim or kill when used inexpertly.” He idly gave it a swish, and Isobel bit back a terrified sob to hear the horrid thing snap. “This, of course, is not one of those canes. And I am not inexperienced in using it.”

Isobel reared off the table in horror, stumbling backwards from him. “I- I won’t! I won’t let you do that to me! I don’t deserve-”

Thomas caught her up by the waist with one arm, still holding the terrifying-looking cane with the other. He hoisted her up to look at him directly, eye to eye. “Shhhh,” he soothed, that dark voice of his so infinitely kind. “You do deserve this, little one. And when I’m finished, you will not misbehave again.”

Within seconds, Isobel was back face down on the table and he was tying her wrists together with a length of hemp rope she’d not seen earlier. Bending down to restrain her ankles to the table legs, Thomas gave a terrifying little chuckle. “I suspected you would require restraint this first time.” She felt his warm hands run up her shaking legs, then on her back. "But eventually, eventually my sweet Doll,” he was next to her face, whispering in her ear, “you will bring the cane to me on your knees and beg me to use it on you.”

“Never! I won’t-”

Stepping back, Thomas continued as if she’d never spoken. “I will not require you to count the strikes this time, and you may scream if you wish.” He let out another amused chuckle, “There’s a reason I selected this particular suite. You can be quite loud when you’re in the moment. And it is sound-proofed from the rest of the hotel.”

Thomas held the cane held over his head, roughly parallel to the ground — as if parrying a sabre cut. The cane whistled downward and around in a circular motion, like a riposte to Isobel’s flank, but landed with a ‘snap!’ on her ass. “One.”

Isobel felt as if the breath was knocked from her lungs, she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t even struggle. It felt like a knife edge of fire and lightning that blotted out every other thought and sensation. As the initial blaze faded, an aftershock — still sharp, localized, but with a bit of dull achiness — began to sink in, the girl felt as if the stripe ran clear to the bone and beyond. The agony began to fade into a burn the she could breathe through, only to scream as the next one hit in a straight red stripe, just below the first.

There were three more just like them on Isobel’s ass when Thomas finished, setting aside the cane and quickly untying his shaking little doll. Isobel wasn’t crying anymore, just whimpering in a very soft voice, eyes squeezed tight. “My good, sweet girl,” he praised, tenderly kissing her wet cheeks, “my courageous girl. You took your caning so bravely.” He moved the bottle of Bacitracin he’d used to prepare Isobel for the caning and gently pressed a cool cloth against a bottom so red it was almost purple. Thomas admired the beautiful line of the five perfectly placed stripes, committing them to memory. He never took pictures- never. His memory was excellent, and there was always the faintest possibility of his phone being hacked. This beautiful sight was for him, and no one else.

Kissing a line down her spine as he held the cloth to her skin, Thomas praised her, telling her she was beautiful, so very brave. Isobel squeezed her eyes tighter. She didn’t want to look at him. The girl hated him with a fury that almost set her brain on fire. She was always a good girl! Her whole life! She always tried to please and she didn’t deserve- Another little sob bubbled up and out of her throat before Isobel could stop it.

“Sweetest girl,” Thomas’s resonant purr was tender, “it wasn’t your fault that Magnolia tracked you down. Daddy doesn’t blame you for that. But if you had obeyed me- if you’d listened to Morris when he tried to take you away- none of this would have happened. But now it’s done. This is over and you’re my sweet, lovely doll again.”

Swallowing the shrieks of rage she wanted to spit at the terrifying man who made her call him Daddy, Isobel lay still as he gently smoothed a numbing cream over her abraded skin. Closing her eyes as the fiery sting began to dull, the girl felt Thomas pick her up and carry her into the bedroom, sitting in the big chair by the bed, holding her as he rocked her gently. Isobel put her face into that comforting spot between his shoulder and neck that was beginning to be “her” place, the place she went to hide. They sat in silence for a while, Thomas rubbing her arms and back, gently squeezing the tense muscles in her thighs. Isobel burrowed harder into his shoulder, confused at the warmth seemed to be coming back to her nether regions. When Thomas felt the first, hesitant swirl of her hips, his thin mouth moved into a smile. “Are you feeling better?” He asked. Isobel nodded into his neck, refusing to come out. With a brisk movement, Thomas took her by the waist and turned her to straddle him, resting her weight on her thighs and not that afflicted ass. With a start, Isobel realized his fly was open and his cock was out, hard and ready. His suddenly azure gaze met her startled one. “This will make you feel better, too. Coming all over Daddy will make you forget everything else.” Isobel’s seawater eyes narrowed, but she didn’t resist when Thomas lifted her slightly, then on to his bloated shaft. His hands stayed on Isobel's hips, not moving and letting gravity slide her down his cock. When he could feel the heat of her skin on his balls, Thomas took his hands from her waist and deliberately leaned back. "Go on, Darling."

"What?" Isobel was startled out of her fearful rage by his vulpine smile. 

"Fuck yourself on my cock." The words were delivered precisely in Thomas's exquisite upper-crust accent, making them even more filthy by comparison. Enjoying his doll's utterly shocked face, he raised a brow. "You're very strong, Darling, those beautiful, toned thighs. It will hurt your poor bottom less if you fuck _me_." He'd spoken wicked, salacious things to Isobel many times before in the heat of their lovemaking, but never like this- with the bright afternoon sunlight illuminating every detail and as he leaned back, like a prince, expecting her to service him. "Come now, it will make you feel better." 

Watching his face, those sharp, heartless cheekbones and the set expression, Isobel knew she could be here, teetering on his hard and stretching cock all day if she didn't obey him. Slowing tightening her long legs, she rose up on his cock, then slid down again. Then again, and again, swirling her hips in that way to feel him in all the corners inside her. His hand came up to stroke her cheek, push back her hair, twisting it around his fingers as Thomas watched her, his eyes lit like a clear lake by the sun. Trying not to get caught in that luminous stare, Isobel moved faster. It was a lot like ballet, she thought, the pain and strain attacking her muscles, pushing past the agony for the perfect leg, the immaculate pointe. In the end, the exhilaration of knowing she'd transcended her body for a moment of utter weightlessness, making it all worth the effort. And as she drew closer to that wonderful pull in her pussy, the one than made her slam back down on his crotch, feeling the wiry hair there and the warm press of his scrotum, Isobel closed her eyes as her orgasm tore through her, feeling that impeccable moment of weightlessness again that made her feel like she was flying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was SO MUCH HARDER to write than I could have expected! This is the most intense Dom/sub moment I've ever tried to do, I hope my more experienced readers and advisers find it acceptable. You know who you are.


	17. Touche'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is audacious. And Thomas looks like an asshole. And Magnolia is...well...Magnolia.

As it turned out, Isobel thought, the real punishment wasn't the cane. The _real_ punishment was sitting on her excruciatingly painful ass at a hellish dinner that night with Thomas's colleagues and their new Aisan partners, which of course included the malevolent Magnolia. Every time the girl would attempt to subtly shift and take the weight off one sore cheek or the other, the horrid redhead would grin as if she knew exactly what Isobel and Thomas had been up to that afternoon. 'Of course,' Isobel bitterly thought, 'she likely did. I'm sure Thomas has laid that switch down on her overly generous ass as well.' Momentarily caught up in the alarm that it could be the very same cane that decorated her bottom that afternoon, Isobel missed Number One's comment.

"-to Singapore?"

Flushing, she apologized. "I'm sorry, Mr Strong, what was the question?"

"It's Marc, my dear," he said in a false tone of paternalism. "I was asking if this was your first trip to Singapore."

Isobel brightened immediately. "Yes! It's incredible, isn't it? The architecture and the street style is so compelling-"

"You walked? On the _street_ , Miss?" One of their Asian clients leaned forward to look at Number Two's beautiful companion. He'd thought she was simply a whore.

“Oh, yes!” Isobel was glowing, this was her favorite part of traveling. “I walked through the Bugis Street Market and tried Bak Kwa for the first time.” Smiling mischievously, she looked at Thomas, who was listening carefully to the exchange while negligently toying with his wine glass. “I’d love to take Thomas there tomorrow.” The client’s eyes slid to the impeccably suited figure of Number Two and back again to the smiling girl, still asking questions about food, how the culture handled their commerce explosion, the influence of street style on the fashion industry. 

Fortunately, one of the Asian partners was younger and spoke excellent English, and he and Isobel chatted through much of the dinner. For some reason, Thomas requested that she not speak Mandarin, and while not understanding the reason, the girl was not in the slightest bit inclined to question him again.

In fact, she thought, carefully sipping from her own wineglass and remembering to pay attention to the notes of apple and plum in the vintage, Thomas surprised her for the rest of that miserable afternoon. As soon as she’d come, he gently lifted her off his still-hard cock and carried her into the bathroom. He’d bathed her, put on more numbing lotion and laid out a soft silk dress for her that wouldn’t scratch and rub against her sore ass. For some reason, the girl felt a spiteful note of satisfaction to see him changing from his suit- her orgasm was all over his trousers. He'd watched her in the car taking them to the restaurant, but other than to request she not speak the language of the country, there was no conversation. Which was fine with Isobel. Instead of eagerly looking out the window, she sat quietly with her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. That simmering rage was still circulating through her brain, along with the hurt and resentment. And _how_ could she have come so hard? Why? That part confused and upset Isobel- that she could be so uncharacteristically furious at Thomas's treatment and yet still have one of the most spectacular finishes of her short sex life. The table was relaxing after dinner, finishing tiny desserts, some of the men drinking a scotch, when Isobel's excellent hearing came into play. She may not have even heard the conversation- she certainly wasn't meant to- but with the looser arrangement of chairs, the quieter dining space, it made it simple to hear their Singapore guest of honor speaking quietly with one of his vice presidents. Chin in hand and pretending to listen to Thomas talk business with the man next to him, Isobel tracked the entire discussion between the two men in Mandarin.

"Let's head back to the Ritz Carlton to sign and celebrate, shall we?" Number One was feeling especially congenial tonight, and he smiled expansively on them all.

Leaning into Thomas, Isobel murmured, "I'll need to visit the bathroom first." Nodding and pointing in the direction of the ladies room, he bent his dark head to the man next to him again. Washing her hands, the girl stared into the mirror. Was this why Thomas didn't want anyone to know she spoke Mandarin? To give them the illusion they could speak freely? Shaking her head, she turned to walk out- just as the terrifying redhead from Georgia walked in.

"Aw, look at our little girl, staying up late on a school night," drawled Magnolia, all of her unnaturally white teeth showing in a savage grimace mean to form a smile.

Isobel's abused ass flared violently, thinking of what this horrible creature cost her that afternoon. "Excuse me," she said shortly, attempting to move around her nemesis.

An arm shot out to block her. "Now, now- come back in, let's be friends, honey!" Magnolia was clearly 2 drinks past her limit, and she leaned heavily into the younger girl, breathing bourbon into Isobel's face. "We'll talk about the size of Tommy's cock an' how the boy knows how to use it-"

"Oh, Magnolia..." A voice purred behind them, and Isobel turned gratefully to see Harding standing there, a level glare directed at his board member. "A woman of your taste and distinction surely has more important things to do," he smiled sensually at the Southerner, who leered back.

"Oh, yeah, Number Three? An' what were you thinkin?"

Third in command at the Corporation tipped his head, appearing to think. "As I said, a woman of your elegance and class should be doing something more meaningful, say, tearing the wings off butterflies or changing the urinal cakes in the men's loo?"

Isobel just barely kept the peal of laughter under wraps as she watched the utterly stunned expression on the redhead's face. Harding's hand slipped in to pull the girl out of reach and heading down the hallway as they heard the bathroom door slam. Fortunately, he burst into laughter first, so she gratefully joined him. "I'm sorry, Isobel. I've been dying to say that to that harpy for years! God, the woman's a nightmare!" His broad, handsome face sobered a bit as he looked at her. "Are you all right? Ignore her- she's just-"

"Oh, it's all right, really-" Isobel's good manners made her attempt to make light of the encounter, especially since Harding didn't know what that woman's actions had put her through earlier that day. He smiled at her, his brown eyes still troubled.

"You're sure, then?"

Nodding rapidly, Isobel smiled, looking back towards the table where Thomas waited for her. "Quite sure, Tom, thank you..."

Smiling kindly, he nodded back and turned to leave before she said impulsively, "I need to tell you something..."

 

Back at the Ritz Carlton, Numbers One, Two and Three were convening before bringing out the contracts for their new Asian partners to sign. Lounging comfortably, Harding suddenly said, "Oh, you might want to check on the offshore oil pumps. Are they included in the contract?"

Strong frowned at him irritably. "Of course they are, they're the most valuable portion of the offer-"

"Oh, good," Tom said innocently, "because they seem to think the oil revenue is not included. Which would be catastrophic, since we're paying them one hundred and eleven million pounds for it, eh?"

Thomas watched his partner carefully. Harding's smug expression and barely-contained glee meant he knew something they didn't. "Care to elaborate, Number Three?"

Grinning spitefully, Harding stood up to stroll the room. "A little bird- a lovely little bird, in fact- just mentioned to me that Mr. Pinyin was gloating to his lieutenants that the oil interests were not, in fact, included in the contracts we're all about to sign."

"What?" Number One's voice sliced through Harding's glee. "Where did you hear this?"

Harding shrugged, pouring himself another vodka. "One of the guests at the table tonight speaks excellent Mandarin and thought it wise to inform me."

It was like boiling water had been poured over his head. Thomas could see everything through an enraged red haze, his scalp and his face on fire. Isobel.

 

It was some time after the business groups had left to sign the papers in another suite when Morris stepped up to Isobel. "Miss Cameron, Mr. Williams asked me to take you back to the hotel. The signing might take longer than expected."

Isobel, knowing very well why the contract discussion was not going well, simply smiled and nodded her head. Taking off her pretty silk dress and getting ready for bed back in their beautiful suite, the girl wondered what Thomas would do to her. He knew perfectly well that she had to be the one to feed the information to his junior partner- giving Harding the praise for catching the mistake. As little as she did know about the Corporation hierarchy, Isobel knew financial mistakes could be fatal. But her rage was banked, but still ready to flare at a moment's notice. And the undercurrent of hurt inside her heart couldn't seem to stop bleeding. Spitting out her toothpaste, Isobel stared at herself in mirror. Maybe it was better to have Thomas do his worst. Maybe then she could stop- _loving him?_ She put down her hair brush and pondered that sudden realization. She did love him. All of his tall, terrifying self. Hands just shaking slightly as she pulled back the covers on the bed, Isobel suddenly thought, 'But maybe if he's just cruel enough, I can fall out of love with him, too.'

 


	18. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. And, Choking.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas sees Isobel as more than a luscious sex toy. There are discussions. Mentions of boundaries. And sex. Lots of sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for breath play.

Isobel waited up as long as she could, wanting to face Thomas awake and alert, but eventually the exhaustion that followed the huge adrenaline rush from earlier in the day took over and she was forced to go to bed. All the same, she woke when the front door to the suite opened and closed, and the sound of his measured footsteps came closer to the bedroom. Isobel was very good at faking sleep: when her parent's arguments would reach truly appalling decibels, her mother had the ill-conceived notion to "check on the children." Meaning, if they were awake, it was one more family member to yell at for "not sleeping." So the girl kept her breathing calm and even, not a single flinch on her face giving her away. Thomas stood over her for a long time, then turned and walked out, shutting the double doors behind him. As terrified as she was to have to eventually face him, Isobel's weariness took over again.

"...wake, darling. Time to get up." Thomas's voice was at it's most silky and indulgent, which Isobel, blinking in the morning light, took as a warning sign.  
Stretching like a cat, she gazed up at him. "Good morning?"  
Laughing, he softly patted her rump and pulled down the covers. "Get up, Isobel, and have a shower. Breakfast is nearly here." Thomas's hair was still wet, and he was wearing another perfectly tailored navy suit.  
'I wish he'd just get it over with,' she thought, quickly washing her hair, 'don't smile at me and pretend everything's normal! Do... whatever you're going to do to me.' Just as she'd finished blow-drying her hair, she could hear the door open for room service, so Isobel hurriedly slipped into one of the dresses Thomas bought for her in London, a snowy-white sundress with a wonderfully full skirt. Isobel remembered twirling happily in it during the fitting, making her dark lover smile.  
Isobel felt as if she was having an out of body experience, sitting in the sun on their terrace, watching the colorful snarl of traffic jams and brightly dressed pedestrians jostling each other for space. Thomas talked a little about a temple that Morris would take her to that day. "Oh, I thought last night was the end of your work schedule?" She asked, not thinking about the bombshell she'd helped drop on the Big Three.  
Leaning back with his coffee, his azure gazed fixed on her, assessing, like a fox ready to snap up a rabbit. "Oh, Isobel," he purred, "I believe you know exactly why I have important business to attend to today."  
'Here it comes,' she thought, putting her hands on her lap to keep him from seeing how hard they were shaking.  
Running his forefinger along his set mouth, Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Nothing to say, baby girl?"  
Isobel took a shaky sip of her mango juice, then looked up. "I overheard the CEO gloating with two of his associates. I thought it was important the Corporation know."  
"It was vitally important," he nodded, "you saved us from a £100 million pound mistake."

"I, um, i suppose the attorneys who drafted the agreement don't work for the Corporation any more," she ventured.  
Thomas's smile was polar. "No. They've been severed from employment." He thought about the screaming as the two men responsible were quite literally beheaded last night and dumped in the Kranji Reservoir grounds, which were highly populated by crocodiles.  
Twisting her napkin in her lap, Isobel asked, "Have you straightened out the mistake?" Thomas nodded, still pinning her with that thoughtful gaze.  
"We have. I'll go in for the signing in an hour or so."  
Honestly perplexed at his calm demeanor, she finally whispered, "Can you just- can you just get it over with?"  
Frowning, Thomas leaned forward. "What do you mean, my doll?"

When her eyes rose to his, he could see the terror there, “Just...I know you’re going to punish me. I can’t stand pretending everything’s all right.” She braced for his rage, but Thomas was silent, and when she had the courage to look at him again, she saw with mild shock that he didn’t look angry. At all. In fact, his eyes which had always been her barometer of his moods, were a hazy azure, always a sign for relaxed.

“Isobel…” his big hand reached out to cover her twisting ones, gently patting them, stroking the skin of her palm with his finger. “I won’t lie. My first response when I realized that you’d fed Number Three that information-” his hand tightened just slightly, but he forced himself to loosen his fingers. “-I was furious. Enraged that such a crucial detail slipped past our attorneys, and that my clever little doll gave the information to Harding, not me.”

Isobel pressed her knees and lips together usually the first things to tremble and give her away.

“But then…” a grin lit up his sharp cheekbones and made his face look suddenly so charming. “...then, I was so proud of you! My clever Isobel- 18 years old and finding the fatal flaw that our £1,000 per hour attorneys did not! And I am proud of you, sweet girl- your intelligence, your courage…”

His handsome face suddenly sobered, and she braced herself for an explosion. Her parents would do that all the time- seemingly done with the drama, only to light up again like a sloppily extinguished campfire.

“And you are courageous. I forget sometimes that I thrust you into a world without the guidance you deserved. I didn’t want to alarm you with unnecessary details, or frighten you. But you’re smarter than that- it’s one of the things that makes me the most proud of you.”

Isobel knew her jaw had dropped, which gave her a simple-minded expression that likely negated his compliments about her intelligence. “You’re...you’re not going to punish me for telling Harding about the contracts?”

Idly picking up one hand in his, Thomas examined it, placing a kiss on her knuckles as his thumb stroked the soft skin of her wrist. “No, darling. I’m not. But what I will do…” he stood then, easily picking her up as Isobel yelped, settling them on the huge white couch with her straddling his lean hips. “I would like you to ask me the questions you have. I will do my best to answer them.” A shadow fell over his sculpted face. “I told you just a few days ago that I couldn’t allay your fears if I didn’t know what they were.”

Staring at him with a sense of unreality, she wondered, ‘Who is this man who’s taken over the body of my Thomas?’ But wanting as many answers as she could get before this rare openness became a gate slammed shut again, she started with the obvious. “The things… um...the things we do, me calling you Daddy. What...is this like a Dom/sub thing?”

The grin he gave her with those even white teeth was positively salacious. “Why, darling. Have you been Googling kink?” Laughing as she hid her face back in his neck, he kissed her cheek. “It is like a…’Dom/sub’ thing. But a Daddy goes further. He takes care of his little girl, protects her, helps her become the best person she can be, nurtures her.”

Eyes still focused on his tie, Isobel forced herself to talk. “Have you um… have you been a Daddy before?”

“Yes,” Thomas answered readily. “But I’ve never lived with someone as a full-time Daddy.”

Feeling braver, she forced herself to look up. “Have you always been this way?”

He lifted her chin, holding it steady as he stared at her. “Yes. From my first sexual instincts. And I believe you have too.”

Isobel reared back in shock, nearly falling off his lap. “What? I- I’ve never-”

He ran his thumb along her lower lip, collecting a little of her lip gloss. “I’ve tried many small experiments with you over the years, darling. Squeezing your throat, restraining you- and you always gave that sweet little hitch of breath I so enjoy. And when I spank you and you become wet, what do you think that is?”

Shaking her head, Isobel felt vaguely foolish. “I’m always so...overwhelmed with you, it’s hard to think of anything other than what you’re doing with me. I’ve spent more time trying to understand you.”

Leaning back on the coach to see her more easily, Thomas’s hands moved to her waist, thumbs slipping under her loose skirt rising up on her thighs. “Well, let’s examine this. What do you like?” Seeing her shake her head with a blush, he gave an unholy grin, leaning forward to murmur that tigerish growl in her ear. “Do you like it when I spank you? When I make you come with my fingers over your lovely rosy bottom?” His doll buried her face in his neck again, and Thomas chuckled. “Answer me, little girl.”

Hearing a muffled, “Yes, most of the time,” from Isobel, he continued.

“Do you like it when I fuck you on my knees and pull you up to bounce on my cock? How far I push into you? I almost think I could enter your throat from the other side.”

A quick, embarrassed nod.

“Did you like me pleasuring you with my fingers and tongue at the ballet? At the private fitting? Against the window in my office?”

Isobel was about to violently shake her head, remembering the razor’s edge of humiliation, anxiety and acute pleasure. When she suddenly found herself nodding, a rumbling growl came from the man holding her.

And then, Thomas cruelly delivered the killing blow- the thing he knew she could never resist. In his most erotic, perfectly enunciated, ”I graduated from Cambridge” accent, he bit her soft earlobe, pressing his mouth closer. “And even when I frighten you with something new, like the cane, or force you to feel pain before I give you pleasure, even when you are bound and helpless, you still enjoy it, don’t you? You still come, don’t you?”

The moment was utterly still, the faint sound of traffic outside muffled by the thick glass windows, the slight rustle of their clothing moving against each other. And Thomas waited, refusing to give his lovely, precious doll an ‘out.’

Lifting her face just enough from her hiding spot between his shoulder and his neck, Isobel whispered, “Yes, Daddy.” The almost instant press of his hard cock against her thigh made her realize it was true. 

In a moment, Isobel was suddenly on her back on the thick white carpeting and Thomas was above her, his eyes gone dark cobalt. She knew _that_ color- she was going to have that thick cock of his driving inside her at any moment. With an utterly alien expression of mischief on his face, Thomas flipped up the full skirt of her pretty white dress and buried his head between her legs. Pressing his hot mouth against the thin silk covering her pussy, the man breathed her in, blowing back out a puff of warm, wet air that turned the panel transparent instantly. Long fingers pulled the material aside to slip into her, rubbing the calloused pads of his fingertips against the sensitive walls. Finally losing patience, he ripped her undies off, enjoying her startled yelp and the red mark on her thigh left behind. Soothing it with his tongue, Thomas moved back onto Isobel’s already wet center, her hips canting up in a hopeful way, needing more pressure, more stimulation. His eyes narrowed in a grin to see her eyes closed, with a rapturous smile on those pink lips. Attending to the lips below, he nibbled and sucked, toying with her channel as it tightened, trying to keep his fingers inside. Just as she was about to fall into a blissful orgasm, he pulled back, sitting back on his knees to roll her on top to straddle his hips.

“What is your safe word, Isobel?”

Her eyes popped open in dismay, catching the amused expression on her cruel Daddy’s face as his fingers continued to idly slide inside her, circle around the opening and then trace her slick up to her clit. “What?”

Those fingers continued their maddening circuit as Thomas replied in a damnably calm voice. “Your safe word, little one. I’m sure you came across it in your reading. What would you like?”

“What- OH! Thomas! -what do I need?” Isobel groaned as he playfully bounced her with his hips again, driving his fingers higher up her channel.

“A word for ‘slow down,’ if you’re scared or uncomfortable. We will stop and see how you’re feeling. Another word for ‘stop,’ meaning you want the activity to cease immediately.”

Oh...he was _satan_ , she thought, staring down at that beautiful face, his mouth curved in the most carnal of smiles. “How about- I don’t know, just red and yellow?”

“Very well,” he agreed, and then flipped her over onto her back again as she squealed. Flipping her skirt back up, Thomas rested most of his weight on the arm braced by her head as he opened his trousers. “You and I have been very slow to explore some of the more...delightful aspects of play. And when we get to more intense options, we will discuss them first so that you can agree or disagree, do you understand?”

Suddenly overcome with relief and gratitude, Isobel threw her arms around him, kissing him fervently.

“But right now, sweetest girl, I would like to try more breath play. Do you remember when I’ve squeezed your neck when I’m inside you?” Thomas kissed her blushing cheek, but Isobel nodded. “Do you trust me to stop before your need for air is desperate?”

“Yes?” Isobel answered doubtfully, “But...what…?”

“You’ll see,” he whispered into her ear again, giving the lobe a sharp nip as he slid his lengthy shaft inside her, gliding smoothly in and out, her wet pussy delightfully slick and welcoming. Using two fingers to part her as he looked down, Thomas groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder. “Your kitty...God, Isobel! This luscious, juicy thing.” His hips were purposeful this time, pushing her up the carpet slightly with each thrust, as strong, driving push to open her again and again. “Such a delicious little slut,” Thomas grunted, “so sweet, and so mine-” His big hand slid up her breasts, pausing to squeeze them gently, then up along her neck, his fingers spreading evenly along her throat with his thumb idly stroking her carotid. The pressure was light, almost ticklish and Isobel smiled, closing her eyes and enjoying the rasp of his fingers against her soft skin. As his thrusts sped up, his thumb began pressing down- just for a second or so, but her eyes opened with a gasp, “Keep your hands above your head,” he instructed, “you may grab your hair if you have to hold onto something, but you will not touch my hand. Do you understand, babygirl?”

Isobel’s eyes were wide with alarm, but he watched with satisfaction as she licked her lips, her pupils expanding over her pale irises. When he murmured, “Such a good girl…” she gasped in response. Her legs were up against his hips now, clinging to him with her legs as her hands were forbidden. As he slowly pressed again, she could feel the pressure behind her eyes, breath releasing in a puff from her mouth as her neck arched. Her logical, lizard brain began clamoring anxiously, shrieking at her as her vision dimmed, black sparkles narrowing her sight into a pinpoint. Isobel’s breath came back in a huge ‘whoosh!’ as Thomas released his thumb, stroking the sides of her long neck soothingly, in contrast to the brutal thrusts he was taking inside her. “Once more, baby girl,” he licked along her neck. “One. Two. Three…” The results were much faster this time, her back arching wildly and Thomas cruelly stealing any small puffs of air with a searing kiss. But then, as he dug his knees into the carpet and shoved that wonderfully hard cock inside her, farther than she could have imagined, Isobel came like a rocket, screaming soundlessly as his hand released and Thomas groaned and shuddered, flooding her inside and she greedily gulped in the warm air of the suite.

It took the cool and collected Number Two a good ten minutes to make sure his legs worked properly, then he lifted his beautiful doll and carried her into the bedroom, laying her down to put a cold cloth against her neck as he cleaned the streams of his come dripping down her legs. Isobel was slack, muscles inoperable and a blissful little smile on her face. After watching her for an hour to be sure she had recovered, Thomas leaned over to kiss her. “I’m running back to the hotel to sign the papers, then I’ll be taking you to the airport to head home.”

“Mmmmhmmm…”Isobel dreamily nodded, and he chuckled as he left the room.

  
Later, when Thomas put her cashmere throw over her and settled her warm little body under his arm as the jet took off, Isobel closed her eyes and smiled happily. It occurred to her then that in the middle of that extremely arousing discussion about sex, she didn’t get to ask him about the mysterious threats to her safety, why was Magnolia a risk, and was Morris actually her bodyguard? Exhausted from the emotional two days and her pleasantly sore pussy, she shifted her hips instead and began to fall asleep. ‘Tomorrow,’ she thought, barely conscious, ‘I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

 


	19. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel meets someone from Thomas's past, thus disproving the theory that he was hatched from an egg, as postulated by her mother.

That sweet relaxation between Isobel and Thomas couldn't last past the jet landing, of course.

 

Multiple messages popped up, one after another on Isobel's phone as soon as she turned it on. Listening to the first, she gasped. "What is it?" Thomas took her elbow, a little more firmly than intended in his concern.

Looking up distractedly, she answered, "That was Melinda- our next door neighbor at my parent's house. Ari's been in an accident- he's in the hospital and they couldn't reach Bridget or Alistair! I feel horrible!"

Seeing that she was near tears, he kissed her forehead. "None of that. What hospital? Text Melinda and tell her we're on our way. How long has he been there?"

Checking the time stamp, she exhaled a little. "Two hours." Rapidly texting back and forth, she informed Thomas that Ari apparently broke his leg long-boarding. With no one at home to help him, he'd dragged himself next door for help. "She says he's pretty banged up and bloody, but the only really severe injury is his leg."

 Their driver had them to the University College Hospital in suspiciously record time, as if weaving and darting between thickets of traffic might be something he’d done more than once. Opening Isobel’s door, Thomas took her hand as they found the entrance to Accident and Emergency. A charming smile from Thomas at the desk had them back to Ali’s little cubicle instantly.

“Oh, Ari!” Isobel rushed to him, holding him gently, not sure where she could place her hands without hurting him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t home! I saw you’d called- I’m sorry!”

Seeing Thomas behind her, her brother straightened up, clearing his throat. “I’m fine, Isobel. Don’t make such a big fuss!” Cringing a little at the man’s raised brow, he smiled sheepishly and hugged his sister back.

Melinda made Thomas’s acquaintance with a giggle suspiciously high for a married mother of six, but she hugged Isobel goodbye, brushing off her effusive gratitude. “Not to worry, dear. That’s why I’m next door. We do miss you, stop by next time you’re visiting your parents, won’t you?” Not seeing how the girl stiffened, Melinda gave Thomas another little giggle and kissed Ari’s bandaged forehead on the way out.

When Isobel turned, Thomas was already shaking the hand of her brother’s attending physician. “It’s a clean break,” the man said cheerfully, flipping the monitor around so they could see Ari’s X-ray.

“Wicked…” agreed the boy.

Narrowing her eyes at her brother, Isobel went on to ask about injuries, recovery and treatment in a confident way that made Thomas fold his arms over his chest and just watch, enjoying the sight of the girl taking charge.

“We can release him in an hour or two,” said the doctor, “if you’re willing to sign for his care. Since your parents don’t seem...available,” he said politely, “we can accept you as guardian since you’re over the age of 18.”

Thomas was itching to step in and simply sign off on everything as the “responsible” adult, but once again his doll calmly went through the paperwork and rattled off the family’s medical information from memory.

“Excellent,” the doctor was rubbing his tired eyes, the 36 hour rotation in A&E was running a little long for him. “We’ll have a nurse in soon to go over his care, and he’s all yours. Ari!” He looked sternly at the teenager, “Next time- a helmet, eh?”

“Yessir,” Air muttered, knowing he was in for it with Isobel now. Looking up to see her wide green eyes and set lips, he sighed. Yep. In for it.

When the three of them were finally alone, Isobel carefully perched on the bed, stroking her brother’s hair out of his eyes. “So, where are Mum and Dad?”

The boy shrugged, eyes on his blanket. “They went off for the weekend, Suffolk, I think and left Dad’s cell number. I guess he didn’t pick up.”

Her mouth tightened. "They left you alone? For three days?"

"I was fine, Iz!" Ari said defensively, "It's not like I could go anywhere anyway, I have to re-take Calculus and I was supposed to study all weekend. I just went out longboarding for a bit to clear my head."

Isobel was vibrating with fury. Bridget and Alistair left their twelve year old son alone? Anything could have happened to him- this accident could have been worse, he could have been knocked out and-

Thomas looked down, seeing her rage and heartbreak. Kissing her cheek, he said, "Well then. We'll just take you home and keep you entertained. You'll forget all about that cast."

As if on cue, Isobel and Ari looked at the brace and plaster coating him from knee to toe and groaned, making him laugh.

 

"Okay, then. Alistair Jr, ready to go home? I heard your sister turned up-" Isobel looked up to see a pretty nurse in rumpled scrubs, who'd just stopped short, staring at Thomas. Used to this reaction from women, she smiled and stood up.

"Hello, I'm the sister. Do you have his care instructions?" Looking from a suddenly still nurse to Thomas, she saw an ironic smile playing on his lips.

"It's been a long time, Mary-Margaret. How are you?" His tone was completely even, posture relaxed, but Isobel was learning his 'tells.' His hand in his trouser pocket was clenched.

The nurse let out a little contemptuous huff of air, which blew her bangs off her eyes. When Isobel looked closer, she realized they were the same beautiful, translucent blue as the tall man next to her.

"Just fine, _Tommy._ Anyway, you-" she turned abruptly to a confused Isobel and started rapidly heading through the instructions with her. Looking at Mary-Margaret's black hair, the family relation could not be more obvious. But why wouldn't she speak to her brother? Why did she ignore Thomas like that?

Finally collecting all the paperwork, Isobel ventured, "Are you Thomas's sister?" Her suspicions were confirmed as the nurse nodded stiffly as Thomas continued to lounge elegantly against the bed, ironic little smile still in place. "Well, it's nice to meet you," she tried again, "I'm Isobel."

Mary-Margaret looked at her, looked at her brother and her expression creased into disgust. "You're with him?"

"Well, yes. We've-" Isobel looked at Thomas, but he was not offering any assistance, "-we've known each other for a while now. My father works for him."

"Oh, the Corporation," Mary-Margaret said, drawing out the name contemptuously. "It makes sense. Well then, if you have any questions, dial the nurse's line, the number's circled here. You're free to go."

She was already turned and walking out of the cubicle before Isobel could politely call out, "It was nice to meet you!"

There was an odd moment of silence, Thomas hadn't moved, his expression still indifferent. Ari cleared his throat nervously and his sister gladly turned to him, helping him up and getting his clothes. It was then the man collected himself and walked over to assist her brother in getting dressed. Isobel turned her back, hiding a smile. Apparently, he was too old now to have a _girl_ helping him.

 

It wasn't until several hours later, after getting her brother settled in Thomas's guest room, showing him all the crucial channels on TV and propping his leg that Isobel could finally speak to him alone. "Thank you," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, "thank you so much."

One elegant brow quirked as Thomas plated takeout for all of them. "For what, darling?"

Smoothing one hand down his white shirt, she fiddled with his loosened tie for a moment. "For taking care of Ari, of course. For letting him stay here."

Putting one warm hand under her chin, Thomas tilted her head up. "Your brother is always welcome here, Isobel. It's inexcusable that your parents-" he spat the word as if it tasted bad, "-left a 12 year old boy at home alone. We'll make sure that never happens again."

For one horrified moment, Isobel thought he meant something terrible, like hurting them or punishing them until she realized Thomas meant Ari could stay with them when needed. A huge smile spread across her face and she threw her arms around his neck, kissing him again. "Thank you daddy. I am so relieved," she sighed. "You're so kind to me." Looking up, she saw his eyes soften to an azure as he kissed her again, one hand idly cupping her throat, his thumb rasping lightly over her carotid again. Seeing her appalled glance at the guest room door, he started laughing.

"No, little one. Not tonight. Let's take this into eat with Ari, all right?"

Blushing, Isobel nodded and picked up the pita bread and drinks. She watched the man that sometimes terrified her play XBox with her brother, both of them laughing and bantering back and forth. It was another shocking side to Thomas she'd never seen. Brow furrowed, she thought about his startling and angry sister. There was another side unveiled tonight as well.

When Ari was finally snoring happily and the dishes were done, Isobel wandered into the bathroom. Eyeing her beloved tub, she wavered. It was so late for a soak, but it would feel so good on her bottom, still striped red from Thomas’s cane. He was making some phone calls in his study, she could just hear his deep voice every now and then. Gratefully sliding into the hot water, the girl groaned in gratitude.

"Ah, I had a feeling you’d be wanting that tonight,” Thomas’s amused voice came from the doorway, where he was leaning against the wall. He looked so handsome in that crisp white shirt, Isobel thought, smiling at him dreamily.

"I love this tub so much," she confessed, watching him chuckle. Her breath hitched a bit as he pulled off his tie and shirt, baring the beautiful musculature of his chest. Isobel was always a little surprised to see how much hard muscle was concealed under the suits that made him look so lean. She scooted up against the back of the tub as he walked closer, casually slipping off his watch and pausing with his hands at his belt. His crotch was right next to her face, and she looked up at him.

"Do you have room in there for me?" Thomas's voice was silky, that devastating purr that always did her in. Flushing at his double meaning, Isobel decided to be bold. 

Thomas watched in surprise as she laid her cheek against the rapidly developing bulge in his trousers, stroking her mouth, then her other cheek over him, nuzzling at his hardening dick lovingly. He groaned when she placed her lips against the wool covering him and blew a hot breath that seemed to go right through his cock. There was something both sweet and utterly filthy about watching her lavish affection on that part of him, something even more erotic than a blow job. Hastily unzipping his pants and pushing his boxers off with them, Thomas watched Isobel reach for him, wrapping her hand around his hard column, stroking back and forth in the way she was learning he liked. "Mmmmm..." he hummed, one hand reaching to comb through her hair, piled sloppily on top of her head. When she drew near, opening her mouth, he gently pulled away. "Not yet, my sweet doll, we've been traveling all day. Let me clean us both up."

Isobel nodded and scooted forward, drawing her legs up to make room for him to slide in behind her, sighing as he picked her up and put her on his lap, his erection poking in an unsubtle way in the small of her back. Letting out a sigh, she relaxed against his hard chest, watching the water pool around his knees. They'd only shared the bath a few times, but she secretly loved the feeling of lying against him, his arms around her and usually one hand idly toying with her nipples.

When he spoke again, she could feel the words rumble from his chest, too. "That's better. How are you, sweet girl? You're not worried about Ari?"

"No, thank you," she shook her head against his shoulder, "thank you again for-"

One long finger stroked over her lips. "No more thank yous. He is your brother. This is where he should be."

Isobel found herself just about to say "thank you" again when she caught herself, instead opening her lips and sucking his finger into her mouth. The suddenly guttural groan behind her indicated this was a good idea.

Fluttering her tongue up and down it, the girl tightened her lips and sucked, hard. The answering growl warned her just as his hands went down to her breasts, squeezing them lightly, stroking and plucking at her nipples.

“Ah…” she moaned happily, “you feel so good, daddy.” Thomas didn’t answer, taking the soap and running it over her front, thoroughly cleaning every inch of her front, some spots several times. Pushing her forward, he scrubbed her back, stroking and smoothing along her skin, long fingers dipping down to slide along her sore bottom and even dipping to play lightly along the anxious pucker of her ass. “Daddy, I-”

“Shhh, nothing you’re not ready for. Do you trust me?” The sibilant purr of the man behind her made Isobel shudder pleasantly, even though she held herself stiffly away from his hands. “Do you, my lovely doll?”

“Yes.”

Her voice was small, but Thomas heard it with a pleased growl. Soaping his hands again, he ran them along her inner thighs, sliding along all the tensed tendon and muscle, soothing her into relaxation again. When his fingers played lightly over her pussy, he heard her sigh in relief. Kissing down her neck, he bit lightly into her shoulder as one, then two fingers circled her opening, dipping inside to feel the slippery essence, thicker than the water. “There is nothing more arousing,” he approved, “nothing more than feeling you get wet for me. These tender lips-” Thomas tugged one, feeling her gasp, “-swelling so sweetly for me, so slippery. And then..." his fingers moved to her stiff little clit, already peeking out hopefully in the warm water. "This..." he rasped, gently drumming it with two fingers, feeling Isobel stiffen. "So responsive, aren't you baby girl?" Taking some body wash, he spread the sticky gel over her pussy and thighs again, stroking and pulling at her as his mouth continued to whisper deliciously filthy praise for her body. There was something so undeniably atrocious about hearing Thomas talk about her "juicy cunt stuffed with my cock" in his well-bred elocution that never failed to both shock Isobel and turn her on. 

"Get on your knees."

Aroused and nervous, Isobel did as he asked, feeling Thomas's big hands stroke along her hips, positioning her against the opposite end of the tub. Kissing down her arched spine, he growled at the sight of her- that supple back, the swell of her ass rising from the water, bubbles pooling on her round cheeks. Running a thumb over the five perfectly placed stripes he'd left on her ass, he forced himself to slow down. "Isobel," he purred into her ear, laying his heavy body over hers, "I want to put my cock in your lovely, tight kitty. Is that all right?" It might be considered coercion, since one thumb was gently circling her painfully responsive clit, but Isobel nodded immediately, head in her crossed arms. Rising out of the water on his knees, Thomas ran his hand along his thick shaft, anticipating as always the pleasure of pushing into her the first time. "It's never a straight plunge to the top of you, my doll- you always gasp and stiffen, trapping me inside you part way." Playing with her nipples, kissing along her neck, he waited for her to relax a little. "I slide my cock along you, tugging on your lips as I coax my way to the hilt inside you, Isobel." He smiled darkly as he heard her breath begin to quicken, arching her ass back into his hips a bit. "Just as I'm doing now," he approved, watching the broad head of him part her pink lips, popping the ridged skin into her tight ring. "Then," he mercilessly continued, "there's your little gasp and moan as you begin to relax, those silky walls opening for me. The slide along all the little flutters of your tissue, the feel of your slick helping me fuck into you..." Thomas was listening carefully now, circling his hips as one thumb still strummed along her clitoris as the other ran along the puddle of body wash he'd poured on the small of her back. The muscles in his ass and broad back began to tighten and flex as he started sliding his cock slowly out, then back into her, enjoying the hitch of breath she gave when he'd hilt inside. "Are you close, baby girl? You're taking daddy's cock so nicely."

"Yes," Isobel moaned, head rolling against her forearms, trying to keep balance. 

"Can you help daddy come, baby?" Thomas was speeding up a bit now, his thrusts making her brace against the side of the tub.

Turning to look at him in the corner of her eye, she managed to whimper, "What can I do? I can- I will help. I want to- oh, god!" Isobel bit into her lip, hard. Her brother was only a couple of rooms away, 'shut up, Isobel!' she chastised herself. 

The smile from Thomas was so tender, so pleased with her, that she felt a sudden surge of gratitude that she could make this beautiful, strangely kind man happy.

"I’m going to put my thumb inside your ass,” he said calmly, still thrusting, still watching her. “I won’t hurt you- it’s nice and slippery, you see?” Thomas circled along her anus again, letting her feeling the wetness. “When I’m inside you from both ways,” he was leaning closer again, whispering in her ear, “I can feel my cock from your darling ass. Will you let me?”

Isobel squeezed her eyes shut, feeling that sharp thumb at her entrance, torn between embarrassment and wanting him to be happy, to feel as good as she did. “All right,” she answered, “just- please don’t hurt me, okay?”

Thomas licked the back of her neck. “No, little one. It won’t hurt. It will feel-” she gasped as his thumb breached her, sliding up slowly, “it will make you feel full. Like this.” He began moving his thumb in the same rhythm as his cock, enjoying his doll’s little moans. Rubbing the pad along the thin membrane separating him from his driving shaft, he groaned. “I can feel my cock in you,” he growled, “and I feel you tightening for me. Are you ready to come for daddy?”

Beginning to shake, she felt helpless against the tidal wave of sensation, the fullness that made her feel split open, the tingling and sparking that told her she was coming. “Yes, can I- oh, god daddy! I need to come, canIpleasecome!”

As his hard fingers caught her clit between them and gently tugged, he purred, "You may, baby girl." Isobel’s head flew back, knocking against his collarbone as she shuddered blissfully. And with a final push of thumb and cock, Thomas growled and joined her, teeth digging into her shoulder to keep from making any sound.

Gently sliding his thumb free, he put his long arms around his shaking doll, wrapping her securely within them and rocking her until she was breathing normally again. “Such a good girl,” he groaned, “daddy is so very proud of you.”

Thomas lifted her from the tub, drying her with a big towel and laying her face down on the bed, rubbing her sore parts with fragrant coconut oil. Isobel smiled into the pillow. She was beginning to associate the scent with his aftercare, it always made her feel warm and comforted. Finally, she raised her head. “Can we talk about Mary-Margaret?” Isobel ventured, “About your sister?” His hands slowed, then stopped.

“Not…” Thomas gave a tired sigh. “Not tonight, sweetest girl. But I will talk to you about her.”

Nodding, Isobel twisted to give him a kiss as he slid behind her, molding his body against hers. “Okay. Thank you.”

Drifting off to sleep, the last thing she heard was a quiet chuckle as he whispered, “Stop saying thank you.”

 

 


	20. A Candlelit Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel and Thomas share a romantic candlelit date. With knives.
> 
> Trigger warning for wax and knife play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience- I had something squirrely with my eye that came out of nowhere. On the bright side, I was forced to wear an eye patch for a couple of weeks and endure every permutation of a pirate joke ever made, but writing- and reading- was next to impossible. Isobel and Thomas are very happy to be back and kink the hell out of your reading pleasure.

 

It was actually a week before Thomas kept his promise and talked about Mary-Margaret, about his family. Isobel couldn’t blame him. Ari took up most of her time with his dramatic almost-teen languishing and endless requests, looking helpless with his gigantic cast propped up pitifully in the guest bedroom. At the same time, her first day at Cambridge was fast approaching and the girl was desperately studying as much as she could. Thomas would chuckle, watching her raptly gazing at her laptop.

“Darling, I believe the course curriculum is meant to be used for the upcoming session, not to be finished before you even begin.”

“I know,” Isobel agreed, still scanning the screen. “But I want to be ready.”

Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he finished getting dressed. In truth, he admired her fierce dedication. He knew his sweet doll was deeply uncomfortable by the realization that HE was the one paying for her education. He’d seen her research about scholarships by scanning her laptop browsing history. Thomas had no intention of actually allowing her to waste time in applying for any of them- but he found himself touched and mildly appreciative that she was uncomfortable spending his money. Any woman he’d had longer than a fuck or three was perfectly comfortable taking everything they could from him, dropping non-subtle hints about cars, vacations, Prada purses. Isobel’s Coutts Silk card stayed in her wallet as requested, but stubbornly unused.

 

Sitting in their huge closet, Isobel was carefully going through Thomas’s box of secrets, picking up each picture and studying the faces. Thomas was beautiful, even then as a teenager, high, sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of the Mediterranean. She traced a finger over the gigantic, curly mop of black hair, so different than his strictly controlled style of today. Picking up the picture of his father again, Isobel pursed her lips. Where was he? Why had Thomas never mentioned him, even once? He looked like a kind man, the same blue eyes but happier, less wary than his son’s, even then. Hearing the front door open, she rapidly returned everything to the box and slid it back to it’s proper place, up and dusting off her knees before Thomas entered the room.

“Hello darling,” he purred, giving her a quick kiss while sorting through the mail. “Ah, there’s something here for you.”

Isobel’s brows rose. Aside from occasional postcards from friends on holiday, she didn’t get much here. It was a thick, cream-colored envelope and she opened it eagerly. Thomas leaned against his dresser, watching a huge smile spread across her face. “Oh! Omigod, I got accepted!”

“To…” Thomas urged.

“Oh, sorry.” She looked up, pale eyes alight with excitement. “I auditioned for the ballet department at Cambridge, they have a company that performs across the UK. They were not...impressed with my performance at the time, at least I thought so.” Isobel neglected to mention that it was in that last month at Benenden, after Thomas had made her his, tilting her world’s axis.

“Well, you must have,” Thomas smiled, reaching out one big hand. “May I see?”

“Of course.” Isobel beamed happily, a little proud to show off a bit in front of him. .

“Hmm...it mentions quite a bit of practice time. Can you fit that in with all your studies?” Thomas was still scanning the letter, but she could hear the real question, would this take away from _their_ time.

“It wouldn’t really change my schedule,” Isobel hastened to assure him. “I can fit most of the practice time between classes. Rehearsals are almost always during the day. And out of town performances would only be once or twice a month…” she trailed off, looking at the polar expression sweeping across his face.

The irony here, Thomas mused, was that he wasn’t particularly displeased with the missed nights at home. This was important to his sweet doll, he knew that. But his quick mind was calculating security and travel issues. That, and the thought of having Isobel out of the safety of his reach was suddenly making his gut clench in an unfamiliar and utterly unpleasant way. His attention snapped back to her, an anxious expression on her face, those little hands twisting together as they did when she was nervous. Forcing himself to smile soothingly, Thomas reached out and ran a hand over her cheek. “Why don’t you accept the offer? It’s worth giving it a try for a season and seeing how you feel. We can work through scheduling issues together.”

In the real world, Isobel knew that accepting such a coveted position should not be contingent on the approval of a boyfriend. But Thomas did not represent in any way a _boyfriend_ , and they both knew it. Throwing her arms around him gratefully, the girl pressed her face into her spot again, between his neck and shoulder. "Thank you, Daddy. This means so much to me." Feeling his arms tighten around her, Isobel smiled blissfully. 

Eating a late dinner that night, she gazed at Thomas adoringly as he discussed the properties of the bottle of Domaine Leflaive 2007 Bâtard-Montrachet he was opening for them. "How was Ari today?" He asked, focused on pouring the wine. 

Isobel laughed. "Cranky as only a 12 year old can be," she admitted, "I can tell he's definitely ready for the walking cast."

Making a displeased growl, he set a glass in front of her. "It's quite like something foolish I'd try as a boy, but now as an adult, I can't help but think it all teaches him a lesson he'll not soon forget."

"You sound like a parent!" She giggled, the sound dying off as she realized they'd not talked about his sister, as promised.

Those penetrating eyes looked her over as Thomas sipped from his glass. "I did agree to talk to you about my family," he said evenly, correctly guessing what his doll was thinking.

Isobel shifted in her seat, idly turning her wine glass in a circle, making wet rings on the tablecloth. "I would...I would very much like to know about...um...them," she finished lamely, not wanting to push him on such a surprising glimpse into his past.

 “When we were younger, we did everything together.” His eyes were that chilly, pale blue again and she shifted nervously. “But our family was...always in conflict. My father couldn’t seem to...make my mother happy. He died when I was 16.”

Isobel gasped, eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry, Thomas.” She paused as he waved off her sympathy as if his father’s death was irrelevant. “Where is your mother now?”

The gaze that met hers was Number Two at his most cold. “She married…’up’ as I believe she phrased it. An unpleasant man who gave her the sort of lifestyle she wished to be accustomed to. But there was no room in that lifestyle for my sister and me. He did grudgingly pay for Eton for me- provided I not come home at any time.” Thomas trailed off, looking at the light shining through the vintage in his glass. “He did the same for my sister. We depended on each other, even though we both worked a great deal during the summers to pay for our expenses. But when I was finally in a position to help her-” his mouth tightened angrily, as did his grasp on the fragile stemware. “Mary-Margaret decided my career choices were- as she said- ‘morally unacceptable' to her.” He looked up to his pretty doll, her expression concerned. “Mary-Margaret was brilliant,” he hissed, “she would have made an excellent physician. But she couldn’t afford medical school without my help and she was unwilling to accept my tainted money.” Taking a rather uncivilized gulp of his wine, Thomas looked out the huge windows at the London cityscape. “She refused to speak to me unless I left my position at Jaguar Holdings and I-” his mouth twisted ironically, “-I was unwilling to be poor in a meaningless career.”

"I see," Isobel said carefully, watching his chilly profile. "Do you see your mother at all?"

Thomas looked over at her, his expression blank. "Maureen? No. Not for years." He leaned forward suddenly, eyes blazing, "Not since I paid off my education and my sister's to her toad of a husband." Taking another gulp of wine, he chuckled mirthlessly. "With interest. Just as he demanded."

The spacious flat was utterly silent then, Isobel could hear the faint sounds of London traffic outside. Standing up slowly, she made her way around to Thomas, gingerly settling on his lap. When his arms finally came around her, she heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn't until the next day that she realized she'd forgotten to ask about the younger boy- surely a brother?- in the picture.

  
  
  
It was the weekend before school began, and Ari was successfully settled back in his parent's house with the reprieve of returning to boarding school only days away. Isobel greeted Thomas excitedly at the door. “Hi, Daddy!” She said, grinning and shifting from one foot to another. He laughed as he watched his doll’s anticipation.

“Why, darling…” he kissed her leisurely, running his tongue along her lower lip. “You seem so agitated.”

“You know why!” Isobel groaned, unable to play along. “You teased me with all these mysterious hints about a weekend away. I didn’t even peek into the suitcases!”

“Good girl,” Thomas suddenly looked cold, taking her chin in his fingers to make her look at him. “That would have been a spanking you’d not forget for a month.” Seeing her eyes widen in alarm, he relaxed with a chuckle. “But you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” He soothed, “You’d never spoil your surprise.”

"No, Daddy," she agreed immediately, excitement still winning out over intimidation. "Will you tell me now? Please?"

The tall man leaned down to tilt her chin and kiss her lingeringly. Smiling, Thomas answered tenderly, “No.”

 

Isobel relaxed back against the leather seat in the Jaguar, watching London flash by her. Late August meant most of the riot of green was still flaunting itself along the roadside, and she smiled contentedly. This was always her favorite season as long as she could remember. Autumn meant a new school year- new opportunities, new friends...and getting away from her parents. It felt strange to be gearing up for her first year at Cambridge and still having a home to return to. Sitting up straight, Isobel realized that somewhere along the line, the beautiful flat she now shared with Thomas _had_ become home. The sun was slanting over the trees and close to setting when he stopped to refuel and then take her over to a coffee house to eat.

“Will you let me make an educated guess about where we’re going?” Isobel asked, resting her chin on her hands.

Thomas, who’d been quickly checking emails on his laptop, shut the lid and leaned back, smiling at her speculatively. “All right. What do you think?”

“You’re taking me to Devon,” she answered, blowing on her chai tea, “you have a cottage there, something by the sea.”

Tilting his head, Thomas rose one brow. “Go on.”

“I believe it’s Sandbridge,” Isobel finished triumphantly.

“Now, why would you think that, my doll?”

“Easy,” she preened a little. “You love the ocean as much as I do. You would want a safe home base to come to. Devon is one of the most immaculate, elegant places and Sandbridge is the most exclusive, expensive beach.”

Thomas burst out laughing. “Are you saying I’m a snob, darling?”

“No.” Isobel shook her head. “You just want the best. And you get it.” Suddenly, his expression changed and it sent a chill up her spine. It was knowing, intent, possessive.

“Yes,” he purred, looking her up and down with filthy intent, “I always do get it.”

 

Isobel was correct, as it turned out. After reaching the seaside town, Thomas made his way through a winding lane and ended up at a beautiful stone house overlooking the ocean. ‘Not exactly a cottage,’ she thought, lips quirking as she gazed at the beautiful two story home, ‘but definitely to his taste.’ They had dinner out on the granite-paved terrace, Isobel captivated by the surf and the birds flying back to their nests in the dunes for the night. She looked up to see Thomas watching her, one finger sliding over his lower lip. “It’s beautiful,” the girl smiled, “just as I thought.”

Leaning over, he kissed her again, running his tongue over her lower lip. “You are beautiful, sweetest girl. This-” Thomas gestured around them, ‘-is merely pretty.”

Squirming a little in her chair, Isobel looked down. “Why...why do you always say that?”

Thomas looked puzzled. “Say what, exactly?”

Her eyes were just the shade of the foamy green surf as they rose to his. “All the things about, you know- being beautiful.” Isobel gave an embarrassed little laugh. “That’s really sweet, but-”

“You don’t know that you’re lovely?” Thomas interrupted her, genuinely curious.

Thinking about the lush, mature charms of women like Magnolia, Isobel flushed.

“Hmmm…” Thomas mused. “We’ll have to change that mindset of yours, darling.” Standing, he held out his hand to her. "Leave the dishes." Leading her through the house, Isobel assumed they'd be heading for the beautiful bedroom he'd put their bags in earlier, but instead he headed for the far side of the cottage, through a breezeway and into what used to be the carriage house. Opening a little cover, he displayed a keypad and tapped in the entrance code, the girl craning her head as the heavy oak door opened.

"Oh..."

It was a dark, huge room filled with equipment Isobel could barely recognize, though the pieces she did understand gave her chills.

Thomas was leaning against the wall, watching her reaction. When Isobel turned back to him, he deliberately shut the door, the lock engaging. "This is my playroom, Isobel. I've been looking forward to bringing you here for a long time." Fighting a grin at the alarmed expression on his lovely doll's face, he walked forward, taking her hand. "Don't be afraid. All of our rules still apply here." Looking down at her wide eyes, Thomas forced himself to smile reassuringly. "Are you my good girl?"

Isobel's lashes fluttered. Damn him! That rich voice was filled with promise, dripping with sin. Clearing her throat a little awkwardly, she nodded. "Yes, Daddy."

His voice was deeper now, raspy. “Take off your clothes.”

Three months of stripping down to nothing and trying to hide her embarrassment about standing before this man naked made it easier, but not by much. Isobel obediently slipped out of her shorts and tank top, slowly unhooking her bra and sliding it down, strap by strap the way she’d learned he liked it. Thomas was lounging on a couch, watching her. As his azure gaze dropped to her undies, she reluctantly slid them down her thighs.

“Don’t hide yourself from me.” His reproach was kinder than usual, stopping her anxious hands from fluttering up to cover herself. Standing, he walked over, kissing her again, then sliding his hot tongue over her pulse point and her jawline. “Such a good girl,” Thomas approved, his voice rumbling through the thin skin of her neck. “Do you know what this is?” Isobel’s nervous gaze followed his hand to a table that looked like it might belong in a OB/GYN office- a padded table that split in two extensions with what looked suspiciously like stirrups at the ends. Watching her shake her head, he tenderly smoothed his hand over her hair. “It helps you stay in position, it will help...calm you. You will not be able to move, or close your legs to me.” Isobel looked at the contraption, then again at him. Kissing her lips again, Thomas murmured against them, “Lie down, little one.”

The room was utterly silent, Isobel couldn't even hear the waves roll against the beach below the stone house as she obeyed Thomas, slowly laying down and looking up at him. Smiling reassuringly, he gently fitted her ankles into the stirrups, fastening them tightly. Looking around the room, she tried to guess what her dark lover would be using on her.

"Are you comfortable?" His sonorous voice interrupted her scattered thoughts.

Lashes fluttering as she felt Thomas trail his fingertips down one thigh, she managed, "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," he approved huskily, walking around the room, lighting candles and sending a warm glow that shadowed some of the more alarming-looking items. He was still fully dressed, Isobel noticed, something that always embarrassed her. Turning to gather some items from an armoire, Thomas placed them on a table next to her, not letting her see what they were. “Do you remember your safe words?”

She shivered, hearing the aroused purr in his voice. “Yes, Daddy,” Isobel managed, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Yellow for slow down and red for stop.”

He smiled down at her lovingly, and his expression suddenly made the girl ache to do anything, _anything_ he wanted from her. “Raise your arms, little one, and cross your hands at the wrist.” Doing so, Isobel could feel her heart pounding as Thomas rapidly wrapped a rope in a neat figure eight, restraining her easily and looping the rope over a hook at the top of the table. Her eyes closed, moaning a little as his rough fingertips rasped along the smooth skin of her breasts and stomach. “Your skin,” he suddenly remarked, “I’ve always been drawn to it- so soft and luminous. Pale…”

Isobel smiled uncomfortably. “Well, Scots don’t tan, so…”

Ignoring her, Thomas continued the tactile circuit of her body. “When I spank you, your ass turns such a lovely, rosy shade. I’ve always wondered…” He turned, picking up one of the thick white tapers, admiring the glow of the flame. “A good quality candle is best,” Thomas remarked, “the better wax heating just so…”

As the first drops of wax splashed against the skin over her ribs, Isobel gasped. He waited, that knowing little smile that always wanted to make her smack his handsome face very much in place. When she didn’t speak, Thomas raised the candle again. “Sometimes, it’s more arousing to watch the candle spill on your skin-” Isobel yelped this time as the wax hit her shoulder, dripping perilously close to her breast. "Though sometimes," he continued, "being blindfolded, helpless to know where the skin will burn next is very, painfully erotic. What do you think, little one?” He asked solicitously, watching her breasts heave as Isobel gasped for breath.

“I- I don’t-” she moaned again as the candle’s heat warned her that the spill would trail between her breasts, dripping down the planes of her belly. Thomas was standing between her legs, watching her reaction as one hand reached out to stroke her pussy, enjoying the lips spreading open for him like a flower.

“Lovely,” he complimented, running a knuckle along her slit, “so juicy. You’re already wet for me, my dirty little girl.”

She was shaking again, Isobel thought dimly, in the little corner of her mind capable of rational thought. She'd heard of wax-play. Heavens, it was in so many movies! But the anxiety and anticipation of the heat splashing against her unsuspecting body made it all the more acute. It burned, but not in an unbearable way, though his smile promised so much more. Raising her eyes, Isobel watched Thomas take a leisurely drink of his Jameson, the ice cubes clinking in the glass. When he knew her attention was decisively fixed on him, he continued.

"The art here," he continued, "is to hold the candle high enough to allow the wax to cool just enough- just enough-" he dropped the taper a little closer to his cringing doll, "-to control the heat. The sting is what we want."

"AHH!" Isobel's back arched as the wax splattered carelessly over her right breast, making her nipple draw tight. It hurt- she could feel that, but the initial sting faded, leaving her a little shaken but ready for more. Suddenly his mouth was on her heated center, that wicked tongue of his tickling her clitoris, then darting down to dip into her channel. After pinching and pulling her lips until they were plump and wet, Thomas smiled again. Isobel's eyes were half-lidded, her breathing slower as she processed her near orgasm.

"OW! OH! Thomas, it's-" The abrupt pain of the burn and hardening wax against the other breast sent Isobel attempting to pull from her bonds, only to flop back gasping, still tied just as tightly. Her eyes bugged as he drew a long, slim blade from the table behind her, smiling gently.

Hearing her whimper, he kissed her lips. "Shhh...do you trust me?"

The answer was small, but he could hear it. "Yes, Daddy."

Isobel could feel the deadly sharp edge of the knife- Thomas, being the cooking snob that he was- had an excellent set of Henckel’s in the kitchen here, one of which was currently stroking carefully up her belly. A gasp burst from her as the tip stroked over her hardened nipple, coated with wax.

“Easy, baby girl. You don’t want to move right now.” His gaze was intent on her heaving breast, Thomas skillfully peeling away the wax along the tender skin, enjoying the reddened marks it left behind. He watched as his sweet doll held her breath at the touch of the razor sharp tip stroking over her nipple, flicking the wax away. Two fingers of his other hand were still idly stroking and playing with her pussy, pinching her clit and tugging on her lips. Once the wax splattered across her chest was peeled away, he picked up the candle again.

“D-Daddy?” Isobel queried anxiously.

Pausing with the dripping candle held just inches away from her skin, Thomas smiled. “Yes, darling?” He asked courteously, “Did you wish to say something?” Her eyes were on the candle, he noted with some amusement. After she shook her head, Thomas kissed her, distracting the girl as the candle poured along the thin, excruciatingly sensitive inner thigh of her right leg, than rapidly moving to the left.

“OH! God, DADDY!” He admired the glistening of his doll’s wet, filthy cunt against the creamy pale drippings from the candle, looking all the world like he’d come copiously against the inner thighs of this beautiful girl. The skin here was reddening quickly, and when Thomas skillfully applied the knife to remove it, Isobel was gritting her teeth, trying not to move and risk a cut. Waiting until the girl was panting, trying to control her pain, he slapped the enameled handle against the skin of the other thigh, sending the wax flying and enjoying her startled scream.

Sliding the handle inside of her, just an inch or so, he smiled down at her tenderly. "Such a good girl, being so good for her daddy. Can you be still for me?" Her small breasts were heaving, stiff nipples tilting to the sky, but Isobel swallowed her whimper and nodded. Thomas looked down, enjoying the sight of the black handle spreading her swollen lips, watching her clitoris peek out. "That pretty pink pearl is swelling for me, little one," he gloated, "I'm just going to..." Like a snake, his dark head shot down to suck her excruciatingly sensitive clitoris between his lips as the candle tipped one more time, drawing a real scream from Isobel as it traveled over her bare mound, dripping down the lips of her pussy and puddling under her ass. The heated stream just barely missed her clit, and the near brush with agony had Isobel trying to move away from his mouth, even knowing it was impossible.

When Thomas lifted the knife again, she moaned, "No! Please-" He chuckled as he expertly flipped it, sending the blade 2 inches deep into the table next to her head. Opening his pants, he stroked his thick erection while enjoying the sight of the pale wax hardening against her sensitive lips and thighs. 

"No, darling," he soothed, "I will remove this wax another way." This time, Isobel screamed out loud in a combination of pleasure and alarm when Thomas thrust into her viciously, hammering against her so hard that the coating from his candle play flew off her skin from the impact of his hard pelvis against her softer one. Her hands were yanking and pulling against her ties, fisted in her desperation to clutch him. Thomas had to close his eyes against the sight of his cock pistoning against her, but her swollen, hopeful clitoris drew his attention. Following his gaze, his sweet doll began to shake her head.

"T-Thomas, that won't- that will hurt so much, it will-" Isobel watched as he picked up the candle, still thrusting greedily inside her. Watching the flaming tip inch nearer to her, the girl couldn't control a whimper. Arm holding the wax taper above her, his beautiful, diabolical face looked down into hers, waiting. Isobel wanted to wail "red!" to stop him. But she couldn't. And as she felt his cock swelling inside her against the corresponding pulse from her pussy, she watched as a single molten drop of wax dropped, with perfect precision on her exposed clitoris.

His eardrums nearly collapsed when his precious doll let out a scream that rattled the double-thick thermo-paned windows as she came, over and over until he spurted greedily inside her, filling her channel. He loosened her bonds, and then taking an ice cube from his drink, Thomas slipped her burning clitoris in his mouth and sucked gently as she screamed again, arching helplessly against his chilly mouth as her hand pulled his dark curls so hard that the terrifying second in command of Jaguar Holdings was surprised she didn't rip his hair right from his skull. 

 

 


	21. The Green Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is jealous. And Thomas is having none of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for rope play and bondage. And dubstep.

When Isobel woke the next morning, the events of the past night flashed through her mind. Immediately scuttling over to the room's full-length mirror, she checked to see if her skin was burnt to a crisp. Aside from a few slightly reddened patches, she looked completely normal. There was definitely a tenderness between her legs, and the girl squeezed her thighs together as she remembered that last drop of wax that fell from Thomas's experienced hand.

"What a beautiful sight to wake up to." His voice was warm, and Isobel looked up to see Thomas leaning against the doorway, arms folder over his bare chest. Smiling back shyly, she fidgeted a little. "Were you worried I'd singed you like a roast?"

"Just...checking, I guess," she admitted with a laugh.

Eyebrows rising with mock dismay, Thomas strolled forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You don't trust me, sweet girl?"

Isobel's answer was immediate. "Of course, with my life." His arms went slack for a minute, and she looked at the brief flicker of some unknown emotion cross his handsome face before Thomas turned and kissed along her neck.

"Come downstairs, I made breakfast." Still peeking at his reflection in the mirror, the girl smiled. Thomas was wearing only a pair of silk lounge pants that smoothed over his tight ass and displayed that lovely V of muscle that led to his groin. Her daddy was so beautiful that it was easy sometimes to forget all the lean, hard muscle that formed the rest of him. "Eyes up here, little girl," he tossed over his shoulder, watching her blush.

'Damnit!' Thought Isobel, 'How does he _always_ know?'

 

The day was everything Isobel could have asked for. The sky was blue, the cool wind just enough to take the edge off the late summer heat. Thomas looked impeccable as always, of course, dressed in tan shorts and a pale blue oxford shirt loosely buttoned over his toned chest. A toned chest Isobel was currently admiring as she tried to keep her rebellious curls in the ponytail she'd scraped together. A knowing grin under his expressionless Raybans told her the man was quite aware of her scrutiny. "You look...restless, darling." His beautiful voice was low, almost filthy. "Can I do anything for you?"

Isobel groaned. "You're so mean, Thomas!"

"What do you call me, baby?" His tone was mild as he unfurled a blanket and put it on the sand, but she caught the meaning of it.

"I meant, you're so mean, _daddy,"_ she emphasized, "you look so gorgeous and put together, and I'm all..." Isobel gestured helplessly as her flyaway hair and her reddened cheeks.

Thomas straightened, looking her over carefully in that slow, visual circuit he used to examine every inch of her. "You're all...beautiful, my doll?" His big hands captured her chin, leaning down to kiss her lips. "Perfect?" Another kiss, grinning a little at his girl's helpless sigh. "Delicious?" Chuckling at her moan, he let her go, watching his sweet doll sink bonelessly onto the quilt. His azure gaze flickered over the immediate stretch of beach. Despite this being one of the last weekends of summer, the wildly crowded beaches of Sandbridge did not include the private stretch of land spanning the big houses here from the sea. In fact, he and Isobel were the only ones on the sand. Watching his girl unpack the basket he’d put together, Thomas felt another surge of lust that was almost painful.

“Isobel.”

She looked up, surprised to see his intense stare as he knelt, knee to knee with her. Clearing her throat awkwardly, Isobel managed, “Yes, daddy?” She managed a little moan before his lips were over hers again, breathing in her little gasp as his hands went to the bottom of her cotton sweater, drawing it up over her ribs.

“Lift your arms, baby,” Thomas hissed into her ear, “be a good girl, now.” He grinned as his doll did as he ordered, arching her back and raising her hands over her head. He pulled up the pink sweater just enough to move the neckline past her mouth and nose, but covering her eyes, the extra material bunching around her elbows and keeping her immobile- essentially blind and helpless. The man groaned a little, seeing her full lips part anxiously as she turned her head one way, then the other.

"Thomas?"

Her voice was small, he noticed, and Thomas leaned down to kiss those parted lips aggressively. "Right here, little one. You look so exquisite, trapped, that pretty mouth open. Your heart is beating so quickly..."

Isobel's breath stuttered as she felt his broad palm lay over her bikini top, over her breast, his thumb stroking over her speeding pulse. His other hand was busy, untying the strings of the bikini top he'd presented to her that morning with a salacious grin. she wasn't used to wearing bikinis, and this one seemed to fall away with just a tug of those white strings, but she'd donned it, turning this way and that in the big mirror in the bathroom, trying to make it cover more of her ass, or sliding it higher over her breasts. With a quick tug, the top was gone and she could feel the cool breeze from the ocean sweep over her chest, tightening her pink nipples into hard little peaks. "Daddy" Won't- won't people see me like this?" Isobel was playing on his possessiveness, excruciatingly uncomfortable with being both blind and topless, not knowing who or what was around them.

His chuckle against the thin skin of her throat made the girl whimper. "No, baby. I'll never let anyone see you," Thomas was whispering in her ear, the silky tone of the devil luring her into dark waters. "But, doesn't it feel good?" He bit her ear sharply, enjoying her little jump, "To let me play with you? Knowing you don't know where I'm going to touch you?"

Isobel tried to clear her throat, to sound more confident. "I...I'm shy, I guess. I would just die if anyone saw us..."

Thomas mentally agreed with her in his head, still nibbling down to those peaked nipples that interested him so much. He would definitely make sure anyone who saw them died. Certainly. "But I have something to address with you, love."

His tone was stern now, and the girl stiffened. It was the tone Thomas used when her behavior was lacking, not meeting his standards. "What did I do?" Isobel was anxious, turning her head in it's cotton shroud sightlessly, back and forth. "Did I do something wrong?" She would have protested further, but by then his diabolical lips were around one nipple as those rough fingers toyed with the other. 

Hearing the telltale hitch in her breath, Thomas grinned against her breast, knowing she could feel his mouth. "You did." He was fascinated, watching her lips purse in confusion, her head still blindly, instinctively turning, as if to find the answer to her “transgression.” Thomas felt her frustration rise as he idly toyed with her nipple, feeling the wet tip stiffen in the breeze. Finally cupping both breasts in his warm hands, he put her out of her misery. "When I told you that you were beautiful at dinner last night, what did you say to me?"

"I..." Isobel hesitated. What _had_ she said that would be considered an infraction? "I don't know, daddy." she groaned a little as his hands slid down her rib cage, thumbs idly circling over her skin, dipping under her bikini bottoms.

"You asked my why I said such things, when I called you beautiful." Thomas's voice was deeper now, more stern. "Essentially, you discounted what I told you. You didn't believe me. In fact..." His mouth was following his hands now, puffing hot breaths of air against her sensitive skin as he spoke, "...you accused me of lying, didn't you?"

"No!" Isobel's appalled tone was so high her voice squeaked adorably, he thought fondly. "No, uh, daddy- that's not what I meant, I just- could I take off my sweater, please?"

His lips were making another circuit up her heaving chest, over the thin skin of her throat and resting on her mouth again. "Not just yet," Thomas replied, still infuriatingly calm. "I know how shy you can be, but to doubt yourself is to doubt me, isn't it?"

Her lips were moving soundlessly, trying to formulate a response. Before she could speak, Thomas suddenly whipped her sweater back down.

"Thomas Williams? I thought that was you!" A woman's voice, high and attractive suddenly sounded behind them, making Isobel jump, instantly grateful for her daddy's lightning-fast reflexes. His hand came down to take hers and lift a blushing Isobel to her feet. 

“Ah, Marietta?” Thomas replied, sounding infuriatingly cool and unruffled. “Is your family here this weekend?”

The woman walking up to them was willow tall and slender, pitch black hair like Thomas and with gorgeous, full breasts, just hidden under a sheer swimsuit cover-up. 

“Not my parents,” she answered sweetly, “I’m just overseeing the Millennials to make sure they don’t set anything on fire.”

Isobel watched blankly as Thomas laughed- genuinely. She wasn’t used to him showing actual amusement to anyone but her. Pasting an insincere social smile on her lips, she turned and stepped forward. Looking down, Thomas put a hand on her back. “This is the lovely Isobel. Darling, this is my old neighbor Marietta- her family has been summering here for years.”

 “Oh, don’t use the phrase ‘old neighbor,’ please!” The woman laughed, her impressive cleavage bouncing gently with her giggles.

 “A pleasure,” Isobel forced out, reaching out her hand for a quick shake, noticing the ‘old neighbor’s’ eyes hadn’t left the tall man beside her.

 “Charmed, dear.” Marietta answered absently. “You should join us tonight- there’s an actual night club here now, can you believe it, Thomas? After all these years of trying to make do with an iPod and the deck!” The two laughed together, Isobel feeling painfully invisible.

Thomas smiled again, his eyes warm and azure. “We’ll see. You look beautiful, as always.” Once again, the girl gritted her teeth as the two older members of this painful social triangle chuckled together. The arousal of their beach moment was quite definitely forgotten.

 Which was why Thomas’s announcement that they would be joining the neighbors that night made Isobel even more angry. Was there no where in GB that they wouldn’t run into women who’d fucked her- mascara wand paused, she stared in the mirror. Her, what? What _was_ Thomas? Certainly not something as harmless-sounding as boyfriend. Lover wasn’t encompassing enough- owner? Cringing at the thought, Isobel missed Thomas entering the bedroom.

 “Darling, almost ready? We need to go.”

 Resentfully eyeing how spectacular the man looked in black jeans that clung to his long legs and a white polo, Isobel forced a smile. “I’m sorry, I just need to put on my dress.” The girl had pulled out one of the more sophisticated summer shifts Thomas bought her on that fateful, erotic afternoon at the department store- a little black silk outfit that swished just so mid-thigh and draped low in the back. “Would you, um, could you zip me? Daddy?” Isobel stifled a groan. ‘Smooth,’ she thought bitterly, wishing she had the sensual confidence of these women who kept popping up every few feet in their relationship.

 Thomas fought a growl from escaping as he spotted the top of a lacy black thong peeking just over the zipper. “With pleasure, sweetness, I assure you.” He grinned against her warm, tanned skin as he leaned over to let his tongue trace the way of the zipper just behind it, his lips ending on the back of her neck. Looking over her shoulder in the mirror, he watched her pale eye widen at the glittering cobalt of his. “You’re delicious, Isobel. I’m half tempted to stay home.” Ignoring her suddenly hopeful expression, he took her hand to lead her to the car. He was looking forward to showing his lovely doll off tonight.

 

"Oh, god, no! What did he say then?" Marietta's sweet laugh had turned into something similar to an electric can opener sawing through Isobel's skull, and the girl took another gulp of wine, watching Thomas's "neighbor" put her manicured hand on his muscled forearm again. Looking down to her own plain, unpolished nails, she sighed and took another drink. While not enduring the terror of imminent peril she'd felt from the sadistic Magnolia, this night was shaping up as one of the most miserable of their time together. The older woman was smoothly inching her out of Thomas's orbit, sliding in closer with each hilarious story about summer mishaps and adventures in which Isobel did not share.

"Etta!" Shouted a strong male voice, "There you are! Holy fuck, is that Thomas?" The not-quite yell of the new arrival was just over Isobel's shoulder, and she jumped, nearly spilling her drink. "Oh! Sorry, love! Didn't mean to startle you..." The man who plopped down next to her as his friends crowded in next to Marietta were younger- mid to late twenties, all boisterous and clearly a couple of drinks ahead. If a couple of the giggling, sniffing girls were any indication, there were likely a few other stimulants involved. A big hand thrust in front of Isobel's startled eyes. "Eddie- Etta's brother."

Forcing a smile, she pivoted enough to shake his hand while getting a look. "I'm Isobel, pleased to meet you." The man was handsome, tanned and wearing an expensive haircut in an assured sort of way.

"You're beautiful! Where have you been all my summers!" Eddie chuckled as he introduced his friends and grinned at Thomas again. "I have to warn you, this man here-" he gestured at the man with the bottle of beer that appeared in his fist- "Thomas was the first one to get me drunk at the tender age of 18. The bloke's a menace!"

Eyes narrowed with amusement, Thomas shook his head. "It wasn't the first time, you little shit, and you weren't that tender. And you drank an entire bottle of 20 year old Scotch!" Forcing a smile, Isobel was bracing for another round of tedious summer memories when an especially good Skillrex tune started, the dubstep sending all the twenty-somethings out of their chairs.

"I'm borrowing Isobel, Thomas!" Shouted Eddie, still unable to find the volume knob on his bellow. Isobel watched in resentment as he looked up distractedly, nodding to the younger man before turning back to his conversation with the gloating Marietta. Stumbling a little on the unfamiliar high heels as she was yanked out of the booth, she followed Eddie and his friends to the dance floor, angrily not looking back. As the pack started moving, Isobel closed her eyes for a moment and was back in Madrid, dancing with the Americans and having no idea about the turn her life was about to take. And after all, if there was something she could do in a spectacular manner, it was dancing. The girl nodded and smiled noncommittally at most of Eddie's shouted comments, not really able to hear him but so happy to be on a dance floor again, smiling rapturously as her hips began to swivel in the most delightful manner. 

It was perfect until she felt an unfamiliar arm around her waist and dragging her closer- uncomfortably close- to Eddie’s pelvis. Eyes opening wide, Isobel put one hand against his chest to push away from him. “Relax!” Eddie hollered with an expression that was clearly meant to be seductive, “Let me-”

 He didn’t get a chance to finish the suggestion because the tall form of Thomas was suddenly between them, pulling the girl away and into his orbit, eyes blazing down at her wide ones as he fitted a thigh between hers, the hand at the small of her back pushing her in firmly. “Darling,” he hissed into her ear, lips brushing along her lobe, “if you wanted to grind on someone like a slut, you could have certainly told me.”

 Isobel instinctively tried to shove him away, but his grip was solid. As he turned her again, she could just see the resentful expression of Marietta over his shoulder. “I wasn’t grinding!” She hissed back, “Eddie just grabbed me while you were sharing fond memories with your _old_ neighbor over there-” Cut off by his laughter, the girl gritted her teeth as Thomas spun her away from the others. They’d never really had a chance to dance together, she realized as his hips slid against hers in the most perfect, distracting possible way. Knowing the sinuous way his body moved against hers in bed, Isobel was not surprised to feel how Thomas's strong hands ran up her spine as his lower body melted into hers.

Fury forgotten at his unfair accusation, she sighed and rolled her hips against his, feeling the vibration of the bass echo in her bones, pulling her arms around his neck and just holding on. Even with the movement and heat of the club, she felt a sudden stillness that made her head drop back a little, eyes opening to stare into his. “Sooo good…” Isobel sighed, a little drunkenly. “Perfect…”

 Watching her carefully, the corner of his mouth turned up. His exquisite doll. Thomas carefully maneuvered her through the dancers, rolling her pelvis against his without letting anyone else touch her. His hand ran up that tempting bare back, sliding along the lining of her silk dress and teasing lightly along her ribs. He knew she’d been hurt that he ignored her in favor of that idiot’s chattering, but what his angelic little doll didn’t know is that Marietta’s father was an outrageously wealthy slumlord in London who allowed a vigorous drug trade to run through the tenements he owned, and Thomas had been smoothly pulling information out of the woman all night. But to see that entitled little arsehole _touch_ his Isobel-

She let out a yelp as he pulled her tighter, then ran her nails along the close-cropped hair along his neck. "Don't stop, please..." she whispered. Her giggling friends had told her that "A man who can dance is always great in bed!" Isobel already knew about the bedroom skills of the dark man sliding his hands to her hips, but what no one ever told her is how dancing in perfect sync was as close to sex- sensation wise- as anything could be. Thomas smiled down at her blissful little groan, head tilted back and eyes closed as they moved together. The heat of him against her, the smell of his cologne and the crisp cotton of his shirt brushing against the bare skin of her back...it all blurred the noise and lights around them into a muted buzz as the girl felt Thomas envelop her.

It was over an hour later when Thomas finally spoke again. "Let's go."

Isobel nodded, squeezing his hand as it slid down her arm to catch hers. Nodding politely at Eddie and an infuriated Marietta, she walked as briskly as her unfamiliar high heels could carry her, following his broad shoulders out the door.

 

"Now...how to punish you?" Isobel was somehow not surprised when Thomas ushered her through the door of his "play room" as soon as they'd returned to the beach house. Her green eyes closed to hear the click of the lock on the door again, then flared open at his statement.

“Punish me? What did I- Daddy, what did I do wrong?” Thomas smiled down at her imploring gaze, aware that his sweet doll was adding just a touch of wide-eyed innocence to her question. Isobel attempting to work him in her clumsy way always vaguely delighted him, as if some of his mendaciousness had somehow rubbed off on her. Walking around her in a slow circle, Thomas ran one finger down the smooth depression of her spine, enjoying her shudder. 

Isobel's anxious hiss of indrawn breath had the man hard in seconds as he stood behind her. "Allowing that idiot boy to put his hands on you, to start. Raise your hands over your head. Cross your wrists." He watched as the obeyed him, shifting from foot to foot and trying to keep her composure. "Such a good girl..." Thomas purred in her ear, running a shibari ropes swiftly between her wrists, bind her in seconds. Pulling out something that looked a bit like a small hammock, he hung it over a hook in the ceiling, yanking on it to test it's hold. Nodding, Thomas turned to his girl. Isobel's sharp eyes were running over the rope assembly, trying to understand it. 

"Come here, Isobel."

When she hesitated a bit, he growled, "Defying me? That's two infractions, little girl."

Remembering a similar scenario that ended with a belt, Isobel stepped to the harness quickly, looking at him. Thomas leaned in and ran his nose over her neck and into her hair, growling inwardly. He could smell her fear mixed with anticipation and anxiety. He listened as she gulped down a whimper as she saw what he drew from another shelf. The knife was big- razor sharp and serrated. Even in Thomas's steady hand, there was no question the blade could serious damage- even gut her like a fish if he so wished. "T-thomas?" Isobel barely breathed, feeling the gleaming edge of the weapon stroke lightly down her cheek.

"Shhhh..." he soothed, voice deeper and thicker in that greedy way that meant being inside her was inevitable. "You told me earlier that you trusted me, sweetness. With your life. Do you still?" Her eyes were fixed on the steel as he curved it lightly to her neck, stepping behind her.

Swallowing against her paper-dry mouth, Isobel whispered, "Yes..." clearing her throat, she tried to sound stronger. "Yes, Daddy. I do. Trust you, I mean." she felt his rough hands move down over her ribs, feeling her breasts heave against her speeding pulse, then back up, sliding up her arms to fasten her bound wrists to something above her. The angle was strange- forcing her arms back more than was comfortable and thrusting her small breasts forward. Her vision darkened as Thomas wrapped a soft blindfold over her eyes, gently tightening it and running one finger underneath to make sure it wasn't uncomfortable. Isobel could feel her breathing speeding up- it was like earlier that day, her head turning blindly in one direction, then another as if she would be able to see again.

Next was the icy tip of the knife again, making her suck her breath in like a sob as it slid over the straps holding her little black dress in place, severing them instantly. Isobel could feel the silky slide of the fabric drop to her feet. "Kick your dress away." His voice was dark, low, but Thomas spoke right next to her ear- she could feel his body heat against her back and she did as she was told. That chilly knife began idly circling her nipples, Isobel gritting back the yelp that tried to surface. 'He won't hurt me,' she thought, distracted by the razor sharp edge brushing against a terrified, stiffened nipple. It only occurred to her then to wonder how her terrifying lover became so very skilled with handling a knife. Said knife traveled down her waist, sliding over the curve and ending at her hips, slicing one edge of the little black thong and then the other. The cool air ran over Isobel's flushed body as she felt his hands guide her into the swing, seating her buttocks on the soft rope, then hooking her feet into loops that spread her thighs wide.

"Such a good girl." Isobel shuddered gratefully to hear the cool tone of approval whispered in one ear as Thomas swiftly wrapped a series of loops around her torso that bound her breasts tightly, then ran along her arms to her bound wrists. "Now then, little one. What is your safe word?" The pleasure in his voice ran along her tingling nerve endings, blending with the anxiety and adrenaline.

"Yellow..." Isobel managed to say, "yellow and red, Daddy." The pleased purr in his chest vibrated against the sensitive skin of her back, and she shivered gratefully, which ended in a shriek as her world suddenly upended and she found herself suspended horizontally from the ground. "Daddy?" She gasped, one hand trying to reach for him, even thought she knew her wrists were too tightly bound to move. Her head arched backwards, her long hair brushing the padded floor. The loss of her vision threw her other senses into sharper focus, and Isobel's head whipped to the left as she heard the long, deliberate release of a zipper.

"Open your mouth."

Even though Thomas was never aggressive about demanding she suck him, he'd taught Isobel a great deal about what he liked. So she did, opening her lips and letting the tip of her tongue peek out, enjoying his guttural grunt. The warmth of his cock pushed her lips wide, Isobel struggling to keep her teeth from him as he  pushed further in. To her surprise, the odd angle of her head made taking that long piece of meat deep much easier. Breathing through her nose, she hummed in shock as the silky tip of him slid to the end of her throat, then past her gag reflex before she could choke. The surprise of it did make Isobel stiffen, which tightened her throat and wedged Thomas’s cock still. His groan made the girl shiver again.

“Such a very good girl, taking daddy’s cock all the way down your throat. I can feel your tonsils tickle me, baby. Let me pull out, just breathe through your nose…” Obeying Thomas’s warm voice, Isobel managed to pull in a huge gulp of air as he pulled his long cock free of her. “Take another deep breath,” he warned, and she did so before his leaking head made a popping noise as it pressed down her throat again. As his hands smoothed along her cheeks, Isobel startled to feel the rope swing move gently back and forth, helping slide that thick part of him out, then back down her airway, then back out again. The rotation continued ten times as his slick and her saliva made it easier, his deep voice murmuring approval and filthy compliments. “I can see the bulge of my cock down your throat,” he purred, enjoying her corresponding shiver as he traced the movement of his cock inside by stroking along the thin skin of her neck.

She should be horrified, Isobel thought dimly, feeling her spit trickle from the corners of her mouth, just as tears from the loss of air slid from her wet eyelashes. He could kill her, just choke her to death with that scarily hard part of him. But Thomas’s progression was smooth, aided by the gentle back and forth of the ropes holding her suspended, in place and helpless for whatever he wanted to do to her. 

“You’re just filthy, my dirty little slut…” Thomas drew out the word filthy with slow pleasure, watching her pink lipstick smudge, the spit dripping on her chin. His doll was always so sweet, almost virginal in appearance, but tonight- Thomas threw back his head and groaned, feeling his finish come boiling through him as he pushed deeper down her throat, feeling it clench against him. The pressure forced his come from him, sliding straight past her gag reflex and down to her stomach without Isobel even registering what happened. “Fuck!” He gritted out, hips still pushing as his teeth clenched, trying to regain some control.

Isobel finally gasped as his cock slid from her throat, heaving in gulps of air as a trickle of his come slid from one corner of her mouth. Smiling in the most lascivious way, Thomas used one thick finger to gently swipe the trickle and push it between her lips. To her shock, the girl felt her mouth tighten against the digit and suck it clean, enjoying his appreciative groan. Her throat was a little sore, but her legs were shaking and Isobel knew that a close examination would show her pussy was desperately, ostentatiously wet.

“Drink this, baby.” Thomas’s voice was calm and smooth again, holding the back of her head with one hand and a bottle of water to her lips with the other. After she'd managed several shaky swallows, Isobel nodded her gratitude. His thumb swept along her lips, swollen from being so aggressively used, and Thomas grinned a little as he raised his cell phone, snapping a picture of her disheveled appearance. Feeling her gasp and shrink back, the man leaned forward, kissing her soothingly. "No, little one. I just wanted a picture to show you later- how sexy you are right now- such a _dirty_ girl..." 

Isobel gulped as she imagined how she must look: her hair wild and tangled, mascara smudged and a look of someone used- thoroughly. "I'm not a dirty- I'm not that!" She managed to whisper, her throat still sore.

"Ah, but there's a difference," Thomas assured, running his thumb along her wet pussy, "you are _my_ dirty little girl. Legs spread, lips glistening..." With another little yelp, Isobel felt herself pulled abruptly upright, a little dizzy from the sudden change in position and not being able to orient herself with the blindfold keeping her helpless.  She could feel Thomas doing something with the ropes surrounding her, and suddenly her legs were pulled wide, shamelessly, humiliatingly putting her most private parts on open display. She turned, trying to follow his footsteps behind her blindfold as she heard him walk around her. “Now, I wonder,” the man mused, his dark tone alternately arousing and terrifying, “I wonder what Jamie and his rich little asshole friends would think- seeing you hanging, spread open like the luscious little whore you are?” Isobel growled a little, unconsciously shaking her head angrily at his dirty commentary. “Would you know the difference if _he_ dropped his pants and thrust into you?”

“Daddy- OW!” Isobel shrieked as his cock suddenly breached her embarrassingly wet walls, sliding roughly inside her clenching channel. His hips began slamming against hers immediately, the force of his thrusts bouncing the girl up and down on his cock, using the rope swing. Hands desperately clenching against her bonds, Isobel begged him, “Please, Daddy! Please let me see you- no one else could ever feel this way- Oh, GOD!” She paused against a particularly deep thrust that sent her back onto him from the swing. 

"Who knew this tender cunt could take so much more?" Thomas teased her mercilessly, "I'm pounding you like you're the most experienced whore, and look at my doll take my cock so well..." Isobel wanted to scream at him to stop talking that way- that filthy way and take off her blindfold! But the speed of his thrusts inside her, and how painfully, pleasurably deep his cock was spearing her. "Just- just a little more-" He growled, hands spreading her knees wider and gripping them tightly, bringing his doll down on him harder. Thomas could hear Isobel's moans, knowing that the shaking of her thighs meant she was ready to fall into a blissful finish. Shoving his hips forward harder, he angrily pulled her back from her orgasm with another spike of pain as his shaft bruised her soft insides. "Not yet, darling," he managed, "not until your daddy gives you permission."

Isobel was horrified to feel her wet slick along her thighs and drip down the globes of her bottom. "Oh, god! Please, Daddy! Please I can't-"

His hands were back on her hips, driving Isobel onto his shaft brutally. "Yes. You. Can." Thomas managed, "Not until I say or I will blister your arse!" Unfairly, one rough thumb dropped to her clit, circling around it in the same rhythm as his cock inside her. 

"You're so swollen..." Isobel managed to gasp, "you're so big Daddy, that I can feel all those veins throbbing on your cock, those-"

Thomas nearly dropped to his knees. His sweet Isobel was talking _dirty?_ Moaning about his dick with those filthy thoughts coming from those pink lips? Feeling his scrotum tighten as his knees shook, he barely managed to urge hoarsely, "Come, baby. Come all over Daddy's cock and soak it. I want to feel you dripping down my balls." And with a gratified scream, his doll arched her back violently and did exactly as she was told, screams dying to a sob as she felt his come boil through her sore cunt as well, sending her back into another shuddering orgasm.

 

When her diabolical daddy finally pulled the blindfold from her, Isobel blinked hard, trying to register the dim shapes around her. Thomas was still buried inside her, their combined leavings plugged inside her as his cock remained wedged deep.

"Daddy's good girl," he soothed, his voice deeper and rough-sounding, "I'm going to untie you now, put your arms around my neck." Nodding to show she understood, Isobel could only give a little gurgle of assent as she shakily held on, fingers against his neck and into his close-cropped hair. To her shock, Thomas simply freed her from the ropes and walked her out of the play room and up to their sleeping area, his hard cock still buried inside her. She could feel it move against her terribly sensitive walls and it made her whimper a little. Finally laying her back against the pillows, Thomas put a towel under Isobel's hips and pulled from her pussy. She cringed as she heard the slick rush of fluid- hers and his- flow from her body. "My, my, baby..." his voice was a greedy mix of pride and awe, and Isobel moaned as she felt his fingers play with the spendings, painting some on her belly from the tip of his finger.

Feeling his warmth leave her, Isobel struggled to open her eyes, "Daddy?"

Instantly, he was back. "I'm right here, my sweet girl. Let me just..." Thomas gently wiped her red and swollen parts clean and kissed the top of her soft mound reverently before holding his exhausted doll's head up to help her drink. Isobel swallowed greedily, the cool water feeling good on her sore and somewhat abraded throat. And when he stroked her hair back from her sweaty forehead and pressed his lips there, the girl sighed with relief. "Go to sleep now, baby. Daddy's got you." And despite feeling overly-used and sore, Isobel gave a contented sigh and did as she was told, falling to sleep as she curled against the hard body of the man who owned her.

 

 


	22. Family Matters Part Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel learns an important lesson about family. And is not able to sit down for a week.

They were sitting on the couch, side by side. Thomas was holding Isobel’s hand, watching her closely as her head drooped, eyes on her lap.

“Are you certain you want to try this, sweetness?” His voice was warm, smoothing over the dull throb of her heart like honey. Isobel nodded, but Thomas put his hand under her chin, raising it to make her look in his eyes. "You have to tell me, Isobel."

"Yes, please."

Her voice was barely a whisper, but Thomas frowned at the blank tone. Sighing, he took off his jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. Patting his lap, he urged, "Raise your skirt and bend over, little one."

Isobel never thought she would not only need to have Thomas spank her, but that she would ask him for it. But then, she’d never had an afternoon like the one she'd endured a week ago.

                                                                               __________________________

 

“There she is, our Isobel!” Number One’s voice had been uncharacteristically warm, which instantly put the girl on guard. Aside from occasional encounters at the Corporation, Isobel hadn't seen much of the terrifying creature she secretly called Vanta Black. Forcing a polite smile, she managed "How are you Mr Strong?" Thomas had brought her back to the Corporation's estate for an end-of-summer event, he'd even purchased a beautiful green dress for her, reminding her of the one she'd worn the day he'd first seen her.

The man laughed and patted her shoulder. "Now dear, we're family, aren't we? But I fear I must borrow Thomas for a moment." Turning to the tall man in question, who had a protective arm around the girl, he murmured "The CEO from the Vantage Group is here."

Isobel watched as Thomas frowned briefly before his handsome face returned to it's usual calm, indifferent expression. "Of course. Darling, I won't be long. I believe Simja and a few of the girls are over by the rose garden.”

Isobel smiled, trying to keep from narrowing her eyes teasingly. She knew very well that Thomas hated leaving her unsupervised in the nest of social vipers around them, but she’d been feeling more confident recently. Several of the other girls who worked in more innocent departments at the Corporation had asked to join the self-defense lessons, and Isobel finally felt like she had a few safe harbors at company events. The girl never saw her parents at any of them, and she knew that was due to Thomas’s deft handling. She’d never spoken of their betrayal and certainly never questioned him about how her handing over from daughter to lover had taken place. Despite her curiosity about nearly everything regarding Thomas, this, she did not want to know. “I’ll find her,” she smiled just a tad impishly, “I’d like to go over and see how the Clotilde Soupert roses are growing.”

A smile twitched across his lips as Thomas kissed her hand and left with a smirking Number One.

Taking another sip from her champagne glass, Isobel smiled a little as she wandered near the roses. Thinking back to the last time she'd been here at the estate and the fateful meeting between her and the dark, beautiful man who- (became her lover? Owned her?) still sent a shiver through her. Knowing him better now, the memory of the hunger in those blue eyes as he'd introduced himself was terrifying and arousing. That afternoon sent the events in motion that created the rest of her life to this point- and Isobel was never certain how it should make her feel. Closing her eyes for a moment and enjoying the late afternoon sun, the girl's peace was shattered by a horridly familiar voice.

"There you are, sweetheart! Come give your mother a kiss!" The strident, falsely effusive tone of her mother ( _not_ her mother!) shattered Isobel's calm. Turning woodenly to face the woman, she also found her father, stepping in closer with a gritted smile. 

Isobel froze, not sure what to say or do. There was no doors to shut between them, no Thomas to bar them from tormenting her.

"Don't stand there gaping like a fish!" Alistair said irritably, "Stop making a scene and kiss your mother." 

Over his expensively suited shoulder, Isobel could see the stern face of Simja, watching the encounter and putting her glass down on a table. Looking back at the people who claimed to be her parents, she stepped back again, her natural grace deserting her as she stumbled on the stone terrace. Alistair grabbed her upper arm. "Don't-" Isobel managed, "don't touch me."

Alistair suddenly looked furious, eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching this stupid child 'make a scene.' "Shut. Up," he hissed between clenched teeth, "how dare you try to embarrass us? And how can you still be so clumsy after years of those ridiculously expensive ballet lessons?" 

“I’m...I’m not…” Isobel’s mouth opened and closed as she desperately tried to stand up to her parents, both smiling at her with lips spread threateningly over gritted teeth.

“Just shut up and smile!” Bridget hissed, looking around to see the interest from the other guests, “How can you still be such an ungrateful little bitch after everything we’ve done-”

“Isobel.” The cool, accented voice of her martial arts trainer flowed over her mother’s spite. “Everything all right here?” Simja stared at the older couple, eyes drifting down to where Alistair’s hand was still wrapped painfully around the girl’s upper arm. The Israeli watched thoughtfully as Isobel gave her a jerky nod, even as her father's hand tightened on her arm. "Hmmm," the woman said, "it doesn't look like everything is all right. Why don't you come over with me? The desserts are-"

Bridget was the one foolish enough to attack. "Hush, you stupid cow!" She hissed, "How dare you interfere! I am her mother, and this ungrateful little whore will show us some appreciation right-"

"Shut UP." Isobel's voice didn't raise, but she finally stared her mother in the eye. "Just...shut up now. You do not speak to Simja like that. She is worth ten of you." Turning on one heel, Isobel looked up to see most of the guests staring at the ugly encounter avidly, flushing, she allowed the Israeli to lead her away from her parents, her mother still hissing at her retreating back.

“They do not exist.” Simja’s calm voice forced Isobel to look at her. “Keep looking at me and smile. They are of no consequence.”

Nodding, chin jerking awkwardly, the girl managed a shaky smile as they walked over to the dessert buffet.

 

Thomas could always read the emotional current of the room, and striding back into the garden made his eyes narrow. The whispering and low chuckles were spiteful. Guests turned to stare at him and then hastily averted their eyes as his blue ones met theirs. Where was his doll? Finally spotting her, he moved faster than normal to her, seeing her pale face with splotched red marks on her cheeks.

“Darling?”

Isobel’s eyes closed in gratitude as she felt the warm arm of Thomas move around her waist. She could hear the concern in his voice, even with the one word. “My- Alistair and Bridget are here. They were…”

Looking down at her, Thomas’s brows drew together. She was dry-eyed, face frozen. The emotion and the tears he expected weren’t there.

Simja moved casually to take another chocolate, blocking them from the rest of the party. “They were abusive to her, everyone was enjoying the show.”

"They were specifically instructed to not be here," he snarled under his breath. "I even sent that fool out of town on business." The older woman shrugged, giving him a meaningful roll of the eyes. Placing a respectful hand on her arm, he nodded. "Thank you for looking after Isobel."

She shook her head. "Isobel didn't need me." Simja smiled at the girl, "You told your mother to shut up when she was disrespectful to me. You were magnificent."

Managing a little smile in return, Isobel felt Thomas's hand slip down her arm and take her hand. "Let's go, sweetheart."

After politely thanking Simja again, she turned and let Thomas lead her out of the garden. Passing by Number One, she saw his spiteful smile as he raised a glass to his lips, those fathomless black eyes marking her expression. He'd done it. Isobel knew it instantly. But why? What was the value to him?

 

Thomas made slow love to Isobel that night, moving inside her with long, luscious strokes, covering her face with kisses. Her stiff body couldn’t seem to relax, even when he slid down her body with a diabolical smile, licking and sucking at her sensitive center until she’d come twice. Finally exhausted and feeling boneless, she felt him clean her and slide back into bed, fitting his long body against hers. Thomas ran his fingers through her hair until his silent girl fell asleep, concern and rage warring though his mind. He couldn’t kill those idiots, as badly as he’d like to. He understood enough of the dynamic now between Isobel and Ari- the boy needed to finish school and turn 18- then Thomas could arrange the rest of his education. An unpleasant smile twisted his lips as he lay there in the dark. Then he’d finish the job himself.

Number One was chuckling indulgently as he poured himself a drink as his assistant led a shaken, bloodied escort out of his suite at the estate. His little experiment that day worked perfectly. Now he knew just how much the boy cared about his lovely acquisition. Despite Thomas’s apparent boredom every time he’d enquired after Isobel, he’d always had a feeling it was more. This knowledge would come in handy, sooner, or later.

 

In the week leading up to the beginning of school, Thomas expected Isobel to be giddy, excited. But she continued to numbly read through her coursework, her pretty face expressionless. The animated, laughing girl he adored was gone. Isobel couldn't stop thinking about the people who'd given her life, then sold her- literally _sold_ her to climb the social and financial ladder at the Corporation. She admitted that belonging to Thomas- for now, at least- was the best thing that could happen to her. He was terrifying, unpredictable, and wildly arousing. But he cared for her- and he cared for Ari, she knew that. But what was so wrong with her? Why didn't she matter to the people who were supposed to love her? Isobel's head drooped over her laptop, hand rubbing her throbbing forehead absently. She'd been a good girl- her whole life! And it never mattered. It was never enough. Why wasn't she worthy enough for them to love her? Thomas had been uncharacteristically gentle with her since that horrible party, no scary new demands in bed, not even a spanking- The girl sat back in her chair, staring out the window to see the sun glinting off the iron gates to the building's entrance. In her surreptitious reading about some of the things Thomas introduced her to, she'd read more about spankings, initially horrified that she'd enjoyed it so much. 

She’d learned that spankings could be punishment- she knew that. Or used as foreplay, even as emotional release. Isobel remembered her first spanking after allowing Number Three into the flat that day, and how curiously, it had also freed her from the almost paralyzing terror she’d been in since first stepping foot into her new life with Thomas. The man in question was lounging on the suede couch, head resting on one fist as he rapidly scanned through a financial article.

“Daddy?”

                                                                _________________________________

It was a first, he thought as his sweet girl knelt over his lap, settling the cradle of her pelvis against one widespread thigh and draped her arms over the other. Isobel had never initiated any play- nothing more sexual than a kiss, really. But this was for another purpose, and he couldn’t help feeling proud of her, even though he was concerned if she truly understood what she was asking for. Her hands were shaking and she’d forgotten to pull her skirt up, but he did it for her, enjoying the feel of her smooth thighs rasp against his calloused palm. Rubbing his hand over the small of her back, Thomas waited for her shaking to slow, then stop. Then hooking his fingers into her undies, he slid them down to her knees. 

"Are you sure about this?" He asked again, gently placing his wide palm against her bottom, not moving it. "Do you understand what you want from this spanking?"

Her voice was a little muffled, but Isobel nodded again as she said "Yes, Daddy. I know. I just- I don't know what else to- yes, please." Taking a deep breath, she buried her face into his hard thigh again and waited. 

The warm room was silent, then she heard him give a sigh. "This is not a punishment, sweetness. And if it begins to feel like one, you will tell me 'red' and we'll stop." He waited, and Isobel knew she was expected to answer.

"I do, I know, Daddy." Isobel wound her arms around his leg.

"Then let's begin."

Isobel gasped as the first strike took her by surprise. It was the first time she was simply still, draped over his lap and waiting for his hand. Before, it was always a punishment- or a precursor to sex as she was thrown over his lap bent over the bed, his hand coming down over and over, leaving her with a stinging ass and usually in tears. But the tears weren't coming this time. At least, not yet. Thomas's big hand rubbed over the red mark. "Are you all right?" His voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Would you like me to continue?"

"Yes, please- oh!" The second slap sent Isobel into stillness, and his hand smoothed against her until she relaxed again. The third strike was softer, but the next two were harder, slapping intensely against her red bottom. But he was consistent- the spanking like a metronome, letting her know what was to come. She gripped his leg tighter, still feeling that painful cramping in her chest, like everything was frozen solid. 

After ten, Thomas sighed heavily. He'd never _not_ enjoyed spanking Isobel's luscious ass, but this time- watching her stiff little torso refuse to relax as she clung to him- it was more difficult that he'd expected. He ran his warm palm over her back, pushing her dress up to cover more skin. "Can you cry, baby?"

Isobel's eyes squinted shut and her mouth twisted. He sounded so kind. He father had never spoken to her that way. "I...no."

"Very well." And his hand came down again, harder this time. Isobel lost count after ten. Each strike against her already raised skin hurt- very much, but it still hurt less than the pain in her chest. He paused for a moment, kissing the top of her head. "Daddy wants you to cry, sweetheart. You don't have to keep these feelings in there any more. Cry and let them out." Thomas continued running his fingers lightly through her hair, but there was nothing from the girl on his lap. "Here we go."

"Slaaaaap!"

This strike was so hard that the sound crackled across the room, and Isobel's head shot up, her entire bottom burned unbearably. Then there was another, and another as Thomas's implacable hand rained blows down on the soft skin of her ass- it felt excruciating. She finally shrieked at a blow, and he paused. She shook her head stubbornly, "Keep going, okay?" With a sigh, he did. 

"Sweet girl," he pleaded, his deep voice genuinely concerned, "you have to do this. Please, Isobel." He reluctantly began spanking her again, but a fissure went through the granite in Isobel's chest. He'd said "please." Jumping after a strike landed directly over a red handprint from before, her yelp came out sounding more like a sob, and Thomas felt her breath hitch. "There's a good girl," he urged, "please cry, let this go." After two more slaps on an ass that was nearly purple, the fissure cracked like a dam and Isobel's sorrow came pouring out, tears covering her cheeks and leaving wet spots on his trousers. Swiftly pulling her upright and leaning her on her hip, Thomas put her shaking arms around his neck and wrapped his own around her while the girl sobbed uncontrollably. Patiently rocking back and forth, his voice filtered in through her weeping; "There's a good girl...let it go, you're doing fine...I've got you..." 

The words and the tenderness with which they were delivered stunned Isobel. Of all the lovely, filthy things he'd purred in her ear during sex, she'd never heard this tone, those things said in such a way. When her sobbing finally settled into sniffling he handed her a box of tissue, the girl gratefully took it, scrubbing at her cheeks. When Thomas actually held a tissue to her nostrils and told her to blow her nose, Isobel did without even thinking about being mortified. "Thank you," she managed, giving a watery chuckle at the thought of thanking this terrifying man for what turned out to be quite the ass whipping.

Thomas chuckled back, smoothing her wet hair away from her face. "You're welcome."

He carried her to the bed, laying the girl on her stomach and urging her to drink some water. Putting the bottle on the table, he went into the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth to wipe her face and a cool one for her fiery ass. Isobel's breath hissed between her teeth at the sting, but it faded into a dull throb and she relaxed a bit. Without warning, she began to cry again. "I always tried, you know. I always tried to be perfect for them. It was never going to be enough, was it?"

His head came down on the pillow, close to hers. "No, likely not." His beautiful eyes were clouded, as if undecided what he should be feeling. "But you _are_ darling. You _are_ perfect. To me. To Ari." Thomas used a thumb to wipe the tears on her wet cheeks, "Sometimes..." he paused for a moment, brow furrowed, "sometimes you have to select your family. The people who care about you, the ones you care for. To ones to whom you are already perfect." The man wasn't sure where the words came from- they felt strange, alien on his tongue, assurances he'd never thought of before. Thomas knew perfectly well that his actions were the ones to precipitate her pained realization, but he couldn't find it in him to regret them.

Isobel's breathing slowed, and he thought she might be asleep when she spoke again. Her head was still tucked under his chin, so the words were muffled. "Are you my family?"

His hand went under her chin to raise her face to look at him. Thomas's breath caught. Sometimes, the sheer beauty of her wide translucent ocean-green eyes stunned him, all over again. "Yes, baby. I am." Isobel gave him a smile then, laying her cheek against his hand and finally falling asleep. His arm over his forehead, Thomas stared up at the shadows on his ceiling, unable to sleep for hours, his thoughts cycling restlessly around and around again.

 

Then it was Isobel’s first day at Cambridge. She and Thomas had gone through several negotiations about transportation- finally she insisted that she could take the fast train from King’s Cross. “It’s only an hour, maybe hour and a half,” she insisted. The look of horror on his face almost made her giggle before controlling herself.

“Morris will drive you,” Thomas said in his most glacial tone, and Isobel sighed, knowing the discussion was over. So when the knock on the door came, she was ready. To her surprise, Thomas had stayed home from the office to see her off. “Ah, hold up, darling,” he said as she headed for the door. “I have something for you.” The something turned out to be a beautiful leather laptop bag. Opening it, he placed her Macbook inside. With a wry twist of his mouth, he pulled out a pile of folded bank notes. “Lunch money…” Isobel giggled and nodded. Next were some granola bars and a bottle of water. “Snacks.” Thomas gave her a rare smile and cupped her face in his hands. “Now, then Isobel. Play nicely with the other children, and don’t forget to use your hand sanitizer.”

This time she full out laughed, and Thomas grinned fondly. It had been a while since he’d heard it, that raucous, delighted laughter that Isobel would give in her unguarded moments. “I will, Daddy. See you tonight.”

As he finally opened the door and allowed Morris in, he stared at the man as Isobel went to get the rest of her things. “Guard her with your life,” Thomas finally said, forcing the words out between suddenly clenched teeth.

Morris's deep shock at his employer’s suddenly emotional warning was flagrantly displayed as his eyes widened, just a mere fraction. “With my life, Sir,” he intoned, opening the door for Isobel, who turned to smile at Thomas again before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are beginning to move more rapidly for our Isobel and Thomas. First: because I have plot in mind and we need to GET ON WITH IT and Second: it still skeeves me out a bit to be writing kink for an 18 year old. So after this chapter, we'll return to the same formula used for her high school years- one year per chapter 'till our girl is older and wiser.


	23. "Is THAT The Boyfriend?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel discovers her first kink- in the most delightful, educational fashion. Also, nightmares, revelations and chain-smoking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The transition here might seem a tad abrupt- I'm going to follow the same system of one chapter per school year. It's killing me to write Isobel as an 18 year old...just a tad skeevy. Hopefully I can keep the narrative flow smooth enough to enjoy the transitions. Big fat internet kiss to you all!
> 
> OH! My beautiful misreall added a new chapter to her filthy hot spin-off "The Marriage of Heaven and Hel," where Loki and Nora's together ever after is by no means certain, but there EPIC FREAKING SMUT.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/10637868/chapters/24671649
> 
> Aaaaand, Hurricanerin has finally bowed to popular demand and added a new chapter to her lovely Professor Tom tale "Go Fucking Crazy" http://archiveofourown.org/works/8805904/chapters/24733092

"...so I'll never understand how we're supposed to draw the correlation between the Exchange Paradox to the border negotiation in the Sudan? I mean, how do we establish-" 

Isobel laughed and hoisted her computer bag over her shoulder. "The trick is this: you have to remember that the latter psychological variables are part and parcel of the resolution. Assuming reasonable subjective distributions, exchanging cannot always be advantageous for both players, correct? So..." She broke off in a giddy smile as she saw the long form of Thomas leaning against his new Jaguar a sleek, gunmetal grey this time. 

"Is THAT the boyfriend?" Jenna leaned in close, staring wistfully at the wildly attractive man who- unfortunately- had eyes only for her friend.

Isobel looked over at her and shook her head, Thomas always had that effect on women. "Yes, come and say 'hi,' he only looks scary." She still had to not-quite drag Jenna over, but introductions were made and he was charming, just as she knew he would be. As Thomas was shutting her door, Isobel looked over his beautifully-suited shoulder to see Jenna mouthing 'Oh. My. GOD!' Her mouth snapped shut just as the man turned around and Isobel burst into laughter, waving goodbye.

"And what was that for, darling?" Thomas leaned over to kiss her more thoroughly, now that they were in the privacy of the sports car.

Isobel giggled a bit as he fastened her seatbelt. "Oh, just the usual reaction from every girl who sees you." 

His brow rose at the comment as he smoothly steered back into traffic, "I see...how was your day?"

She leaned a little closer, kissing just under his ear. "It was wonderful- I got a slightly better role in the next production with the ballet company. Slightly. And you? Anything new at the Corporation?"

"Everything's fine," Thomas answered blandly, just as she knew he would. In fact, they rarely spoke of his professional life unless it was to tell her about a company party or a business dinner he expected her to attend. Even when she went to visit Simja at the Corporation's office building for her still-weekly self-defense lessons, she rarely got to see him there. The last business-related discussion they'd had at any length was when Ari had called to tell her that their father was suddenly being transferred to the Corporation's satellite holding in Botswana. Thomas soothed her by explaining her little brother would be spending most of his school breaks with them.

"Why subject him to an 11 hour flight and a two hour jeep ride to the Corporation mining town?" His voice had never been more beautiful, more persuasive than that day, and Isobel almost swayed towards him in her eagerness to agree and thank him for his kindness to Ari. Her father's abrupt demotion was never mentioned. She couldn't find the courage to ask him about it.

It was a crisp autumn day, and really just a bit too cool for it, but Isobel couldn't resist. "Do you think we could put the top down today? It's pretty outside?" She couldn't his eyes through those dark RayBans, but Thomas smiled slightly and hit the switch, enjoying the excited squeal of his girl as the wind rushed through her hair. The two talked idly on the way back to London, Isobel's hand absently running over Thomas's gloved one. He'd noticed recently that when he wore the leather driving gloves that she often played with his hands, stroked them almost unconsciously. Since Isobel was not one to initiate contact without some kind of permission, it was an interesting thing of note. 

The Jaguar made an exit off M-11 and Isobel sat up. "Are we making a detour?" She asked. The smile Thomas gave her was positively terrifying. 

"Just a quick break to stretch...my legs." His deep voice made it sound far more alarming than a simple stop and it made her shiver- that combination of fear and excitement that he always managed to rouse in her. The Jaguar rolled slowly through a beautiful green village, stopping for petrol and then at a small restaurant for dinner. 

Leaning back as their waiter lit the candles on their table, Isobel sighed. "I'm going to miss the long days," she admitted, "the early dark seems so depressing after so much sun."

"Ah," soothed Thomas, "but then we can use those fireplaces that we seem to have in every room in the flat." He was taking off his leather driving gloves, slowly, pulling them free from his big hand tugging one finger at a time. He continued speaking, amused as her eyes stayed fixed on his actions, Isobel's breath coming a little faster. "We'll have to keep closer together," his voice was deeper, inviting. "Conserve warmth in that drafty flat..." Those peridot-colored eyes were still fixed on his long fingers, idly playing with the supple leather of the gloves as he put them by his plate. "Don't you think, darling?"

"Um..." Isobel flushed, embarrassed at being caught mooning like an idiot, "I'm sorry, Thomas. You were saying?" She was rescued as the waiter came back to take their order. 

It was nearly night by the time they finished, Thomas leaning back with an indulgent smile as she demonstrated the wild gesticulation of her new Russian literature professor. He paused for a moment to put his gloves back on at the table, rather than in the car. Isobel's funny story died off as she watched him make a fist, making sure the glove fit properly. Taking her limp hand in his, Thomas led her out of the restaurant, a dark smile just curling the corner of his mouth. It seemed like he'd barely started the car before he pulled into a small grove, surrounded by trees and a bit back from the roadway. Isobel turned to him, eyes wide in question. 

“You’ve been so distracted all afternoon, little one.” She nervously slid back against her door. When Thomas turned to her, his eyes were darker- a cobalt blue and his expression alarmingly intent. He gripped the steering wheel, flexing his fingers tightly. “I can’t help but feel you need something from me? What would that be, darling?”

She was still pressed against her door, eyes wide. Thomas in predator mode was arousing, certainly, but also terrifying. His eyes had that reckless gleam that meant she was about to be catapulted into something new. And scary. “I don’t know?”

“Oh, I think you do,” Thomas smiled at her fondly, taking one hand deliberately off the steering wheel and placing it on her thigh, idly sliding her cotton skirt up along with the path of his hand. He grinned at the little trail of goosebumps it left behind. “You seem...restless. Have I not been taking care of you, darling? Seeing to your needs?”

Isobel wanted to answer him, assure this intimidating man that he was taking very good care of her- but his hand was making it’s way towards her center, those long fingers sliding between her thighs, stroking along the thin skin there. "I...you..." she whimpered, trying to force her numb lips to shape the form of a coherent sentence. His greedy chuckle slid along her nerve endings, stroking her anxiety and arousal.

"Now, baby. You know better than to lie to Daddy." His hand was pressing firmly against her cotton-covered mound now, one finger sliding idly up and down. "I think my sweet little girl has developed a kink."

Her lips opened to answer him, but nothing came out as Isobel watched that leather-covered finger push against the wet fabric protecting her pussy.

"I think..." he purred, "that you have developed a glove kink. Do you know what that is, Isobel?" She weakly shook her head as another finger joined the first, bracketing her swelling lips and tugging gently. "A glove kink," Thomas continued patiently, "is when the feel of leather against your sweet kitty turns you on." Isobel let out a little shriek as one finger slid under her panties and into her channel. "The unfamiliar roughness? The smell of the leather coated with your juicy cunt? The thickness of the glove over my fingers?" His resonant voice deepened to a growl now, coming from his chest as he watched his finger become shiny with his doll's slick. She was flushing, trying to back up against the door again, hearing the obscene squelch of his finger inside her. "You've taken three of my fingers inside you before, but I wasn't wearing my gloves, was I? Hmmm...how about two?" 

"Oh! Daddy, that's-" Isobel's stomach muscles tightened against the stimulation of two thick fingers feeling wildly good, but filthy- bad girl filthy as they pumped inside her, his strong arm easily pushing them up inside her. Trying to tighten her legs against the intrusive feeling of those thick digits inside her earned Isobel a slap on her clit. "Ow! I'm sorry Daddy!" She managed to gasp, eyes closing at the feel of the leather rubbing against her insides.

"Open your legs to me." His voice was calm, but there was no room for argument. "Wider." Thomas smiled down at those long legs, splayed lewdly against her seat. "Lift your skirt to your waist and keep it there." He groaned internally at the sight of her swollen lips, bare against the black of his glove, now slick and glistening from being inside her. "I think we should try three fingers, little girl." She moaned, shaking her head nervously, but Thomas ignored her, yanking off her undies with one hand and twisting the other wrist to push in a third finger. He could _feel_ her- that tender cunt stretched tightly around his fingers, thighs shaking with the effort to stay open. And the heat and wet of her... Isobel looked so beautifully debauched, holding up her skirt to show the wanton display of his fingers roughly fucking her. "Keep your eyes on my hand!" He ordered sharply as her head tilted back. His doll moaned in protest, but she trained her gaze back on his glove-covered hand. "Is that uncomfortable?" Thomas asked solicitously, his concern coming out as a little false as she heard the grin in his question. "I do hope not, babygirl, you feel so tight around Daddy's hand. God, I wish I could fit all five fingers up your cu-" He broke off laughing as Isobel gasped in alarm, trying to close her thighs again. 

"Shhh..." he soothed, "fisting can be a very pleasurable thing, but you've a tiny pussy and we'll be trying that another time. For now, keep those thighs open and watch. See how juicy you are? My entire glove is wet-" He turned his fingers to face up and began pressing them firmly against those secretive little places by her cervix, against the front of her channel, the odd texture of the leather stroking over them. Pushing more aggressively now, Thomas locked eyes with Isobel, enjoying her gasps and moans as she tried to do as she was told. "In fact, baby, I wager I can made you come without even touching your clit. Do you think these three fingers-" all three digits began wiggling teasingly against her already strained walls, moving in and out forcefuly. "Do you think they could make you go off like a rocket? Let's see. Don't you dare come until I give you leave, little girl!" He could feel the signs, that limber back arching against his hand, the way her breathing changed. "Do you hear me? Answer Daddy."

"Yes," groaned Isobel, "I hear you, Daddy. But it's so- AH!" A particularly push sent her pussy clutching against his invading hand.

Thomas leaned forward, sniffing the scent of her slick against his leather appreciatively. "There's a good girl," he soothed, "although- do good girls enjoy being finger-fucked in a car, just off the road where anyone passing by could see her being used this way? Riding on a hand in a leather glove?" He drew out the words, enjoying the desperate way his beautiful doll bit her lip to keep quiet. "I don't see how you won't moan and howl like the delicious slut you are when you come against my hand-" His speed was inhuman now, his muscled forearm driving his fingers against her pussy. Watching as tears began seeping from the corners of her eyes, he purred into her ear. "When I say, not a moment before. One."

Isobel groaned one hand helplessly grasping his suited shoulder, the other gripping the arm rest. Why wouldn't he count more quickly? Why was he torturing her? Oh, _god_ , that glove felt so strange and so good inside her-

"Two." 

"Pleaseohpleaseohplease, Daddy!" She moaned pitifully.

"Three."

Isobel's orgasm was soundless, her back snapped sharply into an arch, her mouth open in a silent wail as Thomas continued to move his fingers in and out of her, slowly now, smoothly to prolong the feeling. He could hear the erotic sound of her clenching pussy against his wet fingers, see the shine of her juices against her thighs and bottom. When the taut bow-string of her back relaxed against the seat again, he pulled his hand from her, putting one slick finger in his mouth thoughtfully as his doll moaned in embarrassment. "Delightful," he grunted, feeling his erection pressing painfully against his zipper.

The girl barely had time to react when her door opened and Thomas scooped her up, easily lifting her and splaying her body against the hood of the Jaguar. A moment later, his cock was insistently pushing into her still-spasming channel, and they both moaned for a moment until it loosened enough to continue. "Your cunt," he licked a line up her neck to her ear, biting the lobe sharply, "so good, babygirl. You fit me like a glove." Thomas laughed at her answering whimper, belt flapping against his thighs as he fucked her faster, trying to get all of himself inside before this tight little thing made him come. Roughly yanking her shirt loose, he planted his mouth against one stiff nipple, luxuriously suckling it as his hand grasped the other one, crudely using it as a handle to push her up and down on his cock.

Staring sightlessly at the night sky, Isobel tightened her legs against his thrusting behind, feeling the muscles there clench, then release as he fucked into her furiously. She could feel his balls rub against her slippery ass and the heat of his pelvis slamming her. His thrusts were shoving her up the sleek metal of the sports car, and Thomas would impatiently yank her down again. She could see the moon emerge behind the tall, dark form riding her, the stars in a constellation around his head. "Daddy..." she licked her lips and tried again, "daddy, please...could you come in me? It makes me so warm- it's hot, your come..." There wasn't time to say anything else as Thomas stiffened and came inside her with a roar, the loudest she'd ever heard him. As he fell forward onto her chest, panting, Isobel weakly placed her arms around his head, stroking his sweaty hair as she stared at the stars, humming mindlessly.

They separated with another one of those embarrassingly loud squelches, and Thomas smiled at her furious blush. "Oh, darling, you were so very juicy." Raising his wrist to his nose, Isobel gasped to see the cuff of his shirt and his jacket were wet. Taking an appreciative sniff, he examined his blushing doll and gave her a kiss. Helping her slide off the hood of the Jaguar, he guided her unsteady steps to the open passenger door. She could feel the finish of them both sliding down her inner thighs and as usual, he seemed to know just what she was thinking. "I'm afraid you're going to have to sit and just be...juicy," Thomas purred, "I've got nothing to tidy you here." Isobel doubted that- Thomas was always prepared, always! But nonetheless, she sat uncomfortably in the cooling slick of them both, saturating the back of her skirt, her seat, and the wet driving glove he refused to take off.

 

The holidays were approaching and Isobel viewed them with some trepidation. Did Thomas celebrate? Would it be all right that Ari was staying with them for two weeks? He wouldn't have to go to their horrible parents, would he? But her ever-confusing lover simply took her out one cold, clear night to get a Christmas tree, even carrying the thing home for her after she finally decided on the perfect pine. Isobel reluctantly used the credit card in her wallet to shop for everyone but him, instead using the last of her tutoring money to buy his gifts. They were some of the happiest days of her life, she thought later. No arguments, no loaded conversations that would set off another round of shouting between her parents. Ari's initial shyness at being back in Thomas's huge flat disappeared quickly as the man played several rounds of XBox games with him.

"Um, should I get a gift for your...um, your sister?" Isobel offered one morning as they were returning from a run. Thomas put his hands on his hips, shaking a cramp out of one leg as he looked down at her.

"For Mary-Margaret?" To Isobel's dismay, his eyes were turning that polar blue. "She won't accept any gifts from me. Not even at Christmas."

She knew she was pushing her luck, but Isobel persisted. "Would it be all right if I sent her something?" she asked hopefully. To her relief, Thomas simply shrugged.

"If you wish."

On Christmas morning, she was stunned by the sheer volume of gifts from him- beautiful, expensive things, but most still chosen to mean something to her. And when he opened his last gift from her, there was a pair of beautiful, butter-soft driving gloves in the box, along with a little note. Reading the paper, Thomas's eyes flicked up to her as he smiled, running the gloves under his nose. He looked like the devil, she thought. Her beautiful, carnal demon. 

 

 

The dreams started just after Christmas, Isobel was certain of the tiiming. She woke instantly each time it happened. Thomas was such a silent sleeper, he _never_ snored, didn't talk in his sleep- which made the nightmares all the most startling.

But this nightmare was the worst.

"Cam- don't you- don't you worry now. You've got the meds never mind how- don't cry, I've got you no worries eh? I mean-" Isobel rolled over, watching Thomas thrash in the blankets, clutching the goose down comforter like he wanted to strangle it. "Da' can't handle it and bugger- bugger..." Biting her lip, the girl looked at the sheen of sweat on his forehead and tried to remember what she'd been told about nightmares.

'Is it don't wake them from a nightmare or they might have a heart attack? Wait...' Isobel fretted, '...that's if they're falling in the dream? Or...oh, hell!' 

Sliding a hand over his shoulder, she used her sweetest, most gentle voice. "Thomas? Sweetheart, you're having a bad dream, wake up now, it's all right, everyone is safe-" The reassurance was cut off when his big hand wrapped around her throat with alarming speed. Even the angry Thomas she'd faced in Singapore after that disastrous meeting with Magnolia wasn't as terrifying as the semi-conscious man who stared at her with no recognition.

"Mare?" His fingers tightened, and Isobel choked back a scream.

"Y-yes, Thomas," she gasped, "it's all right now. Everything's all right. We're safe. You've kept us safe."

The savagery in his eyes faded, and for the first time in her life with him, Isobel saw Thomas wear an expression on uncertainty. "It's- Cam's all right, then?"

His grip on her throat loosened, and she carefully breathed a sigh of relief. 'Mare," she thought, 'must be Mary Margaret.' 

Dragging in another painful breath, Isobel managed, "Yes, Tommy, it's all right. Everything's all right. Thank you for taking care of us." The expression of almost childlike hope on his face nearly broke her. "It's all right. I love you."

His hand swept down her body to pull Isobel against him. "It's all right..." Thomas mumbled, and fell silent again, his chest rising and falling calmly.

To her deep gratitude, Thomas was up before her the next day, already dressed in his beautiful blue suit when he bent to kiss her goodbye. "G'morning, Daddy..." Isobel murmured.

"Morning, sweetest girl," he kissed her cheek, the curve of her jaw and her shoulder as his lovely doll shivered pleasurably. "I'll be out all day with meetings, love. I know it's the Christmas holiday, but..."

Isobel took his hand in hers, kissing it tenderly, "It's all right, Daddy. Work is work. It doesn't care what day it is, right?"

Handsome brow furrowed, Thomas paused at hearing her voice utter "It's all right." Why did that seem so familiar?

Looking down, he could see those exquisite sea glass green eyes winking at him. "I'll be here, Daddy. Have a good day."

The cold and collected man couldn't seem to explain why her assurance nearly made him weep, but Thomas gritted his teeth, pushing back any unseemly display of emotion. "Lovely, darling. Give Daddy a nice kiss." Groaning inwardly as Isobel rose to do so with enthusiasm, the man straightened his tie as he rose, eyeing his blushing doll. "Naughty..." he purred, drawing the word out with some pleasure. "I'll see you tonight, little girl." Vaguely readjusting his swelling cock as Isobel giggled, he forced himself to leave their bedroom.

 

"Thank you for the firewood and the massage gift certificates." Mary-Margaret was smoking outside of the hospital when Isobel arrived, staring out at the snow-packed parking lot. Isobel gingerly sat beside her on the bench, buttoning her jacket to the neck.

"Why did you keep them this time?"

Her- sort of sister-in-law, sort of relative? raised her brow, taking another drag of the cigarette before expertly flicking the butt on to the pavement. "I could tell that Tommy didn't select them," Mary-Margaret said cynically, "they were too practical."

Isobel looked down at the expensive purse clutched in her lap. It was a Christmas present from her dark and beautiful lover. "He just wants you to be comfortable, you know," she offered quietly.  

"No," the other woman said impatiently, "he wants me to be bought. To pretend that what he's doing is all right."

Isobel pondered what to ask. She didn’t want to violate Thomas’s privacy, but the dreams were getting worse. Last night’s episode left marks, and she knew he would be furious with himself for his lack of control and hurting her. Finally, she offered, “Thomas has been having nightmares.”

Mary-Margaret’s brow lifted again, eerily similar to her brother’s. “Oh? I thought he slept the untroubled sleep of those without a conscience.”

Eyes rolling irritably, Isobel stood. “If you’re going to mock your brother instead of helping him, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

She’d taken a step forward when she felt the woman’s hand on her arm. “Wait. I’m sorry. Sit down.” Lighting up another cigarette, Mary-Margaret side-eyed Isobel. “What do you want to know?”

“In his nightmare, he talked about a Cameron…” Isobel shifted uncomfortably, not feeling like she could admit to snooping through Thomas’s things. “He’s told me about your family- your father passing away when you were younger?” It was uncanny, she thought, watching the expressions on the woman’s face that looked just like her older, more terrifying sibling’s.

“Yes,” Mary-Margaret took in a deep drag of smoke, steadying herself. “Da died when I was 15. Cam was our little brother, he was 12.”

“Thomas was mumbling something about the medicine, and not to worry,” Isobel prompted.

Sighing, the older woman looked at the bedraggled Christmas tree in front of the building. “My, you’re bringing up all kinds of happy memories,” she said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry-”

“-Don’t be,” Mary-Margaret dismissed her apology, “you should know if you’re going to be in Tommy's life.” She turned to look Isobel over again, shaking her head at the girl’s sweet, honest face. “Though how my brother and you are together? Hmmm… At any rate, we were poor as kids. My Da worked hard, but it was never enough. My Ma made certain he knew that. Cam got sick- cancer.”

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” Isobel whispered, tears in her eyes as she thought of the boy’s happy face in that old picture.

“Tommy was so clever, even then,” Mary-Margaret ignored her sympathy, continuing on stubbornly, eager to finish. “He did loads of research and found out there was medication- expensive meds- that could help Cameron’s particular strain of the disease. He got the money- somehow-” she added mockingly, “and Cam got on the meds. There were huge rows with my Da about it- where a 16 year old could lay his hands on that kind of cash? But Tommy wouldn’t tell him, just kept leaving the house night after night, not coming home till nearly dawn. Da went out after him one night- somehow he was killed.”

Isobel gasped, her heart turning to lead as she looked at Mary-Margaret’s pale, furious face.

“Tommy was even worse after that, still getting the mystery money for Cam’s treatment, trying to find out what happened to our Da. The police-” here, the woman snorted inelegantly, “-assumed Da got in the middle of some deal that went bad, some gang issue. They never went to much trouble over it. We were poor, after all, lived in Hackney. Cam...Cameron, he died anyway. He was in such fragile shape by the time he got on the right meds that they just couldn’t help fast enough. So Tommy blamed himself for that, as well as for Da.” She stood up abruptly, wrapping her coat around her scrubs, beginning to pace.

“My Ma blamed him, too,” she sneered, “easy to do since Da wasn’t around any longer to be her target. We both got sent off to school when she remarried- Tommy told you about that?”

Nodding, Isobel looked up at the pacing woman, “Yes. Completely vile, I hear.”

Mary-Margaret burst into laughter. “Precisely. He certainly didn’t want us around, which was fine with the two of us.” Her pretty face sobered and set in those angry lines again. “Tommy and I- we would always stick together, that’s what we said. But when he went to Cambridge, he had more and more money- drove a Jaguar. I’ll bet he still does?” She looked at Isobel’s nod and smirked, “He always loved those things… He’d never tell me how he got all this money, but he turned colder and colder the more I asked about it. It was like those rows with Da all over again. I finally found out, of course.” She smiled at Isobel cynically. “But, you don’t want to know that, do you?”

Isobel sat on the freezing bench and pondered. Did she want to know? Could she handle it? "Not right now," she said, ignoring the woman's roll of the eyes. "There's so much I need to know- about your family, the nightmares. Is that how you and Thomas fell out? I know he wanted to pay your way through medical school. He says you're brilliant."

Raising that elegant brow again, Mary-Margaret said, "Brilliant? Hm...he did. I refused, of course. As if I'd take the blood money from the same thing that killed our Da? Tommy was so angry at that- said I was being stubborn, all high and mighty. That I didn't know shite. After a couple of years of sending his money back, he finally got the message. I haven't seen him since- until that day your brother showed up in my A&E, all banged up." A reminiscent smile crossed her face, "How is Ari, by the way?"

Laughing, Isobel admitted, "As reckless as ever, I fear. But well, thanks to you."

Stretching a little, Mary-Margaret picked up her pack of cigarettes and her lighter. "So, now you know the whole sordid story of our childhood. Putting some pieces together about your mysterious boyfriend?"

Isobel stood too. "Yes. Thank you, Mary-Margaret. I'm so sorry, I know that probably doesn't mean much. But you and Thomas both- you're so strong, overcoming that much loss. I wish..." she paused and tried to gather her thoughts, "...I wish you two could be close. You're all that's left of your family."

She could have sworn that pretty mouth trembled a bit before Mary-Margaret angrily firmed it into a straight line. "Well. That's where Tommy's ah...business enterprises come in. Are you ready to hear about that?" Keenly eyeing the expressive face of the girl in front of her, she shook her head. "No, of course not. You love him. Does he know that?"

Heart in her throat, Isobel remembered murmuring "I love you" during his nightmare. Did Thomas hear it? Did he know? Shaking her head, she forced a smile. "Believe it or not, your brother is very easy to love. But I doubt it's easy for him to hear it."

"Good to know," Mary-Margaret said skeptically. "When you're ready to hear who Tommy really is, you come back." Without saying goodbye, she turned and started heading back to the hospital.

"Thank you!" Isobel called after her, those finishing school manners still very much intact, "It was nice getting to know you better!" 

 

 


	24. A Date With The Green Fairy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is introduced to the lights of Paris. And it's dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm...trigger warnings for dubcon, semi-public sex and bdsm consensusal torture. 
> 
> It's nice to be back with Isobel and Thomas, since it looks like my gimpy eye has decided to behave itself. Seriously, I've begun to wonder which of the lesser demigods I've offended to get this kind of smiting. Misreall thinks it's the God of Small Appliances, since he's EVERYWHERE. I've missed you all!

 

"Happy 20th birthday, love..."

 "Mmmmm..." Isobel smiled, feeling the rough morning stubble rub against the soft skin of her neck as Thomas kissed her awake. Finally opening her eyes, she gazed at the tall man looming over her, his lounge pants enticingly loose and displaying his sculpted lower abdomen. Idly run a finger down one line of the "V" that led to all kinds of tempting pleasures, the girl sighed as she watched his stomach muscles contract.

 "If you keep this up," Thomas warned, “we will not be making our flight and I will be spending your birthday shagging you into next week. I certainly would prefer the latter, but…” He started laughing as Isobel was up in a flash, kissing him quickly before darting for the bathroom. Over the last year, his shy doll had become more daring about initiating affection. He found the new, confident Isobel wildly attractive. If anything, their sex life was increasing in frequency. A dark smile crossed his lips as Thomas stared out the window. And with certain, exotic additions. They’d spent a warm spring weekend down at the “beach mansion”- as Isobel laughingly referred to it- where he’d tied her up in an increasingly creative series of knots that left certain, delicious parts of her extremely available as the rest of his lovely doll stayed bound. 

Though Thomas felt a mild sense of remorse as he watched Isobel hobble around for the next two days, he couldn’t seem to make himself really let it blossom it into anything truly emotionally altering. Perhaps it was his doll’s loose-lipped smile, or the irregular giggle that would erupt when she looked at him.

Finally seated on the Corporation jet and the flight underway, Isobel found the courage to straddle her impeccably suited lover. “Please tell me where we’re going?” She begged, carefully kissing down his neck but not letting a lip gloss smear taint the perfection of his white shirt collar. The girl knew from his indulgent grin that he would never tell her- Thomas enjoyed torturing her with the pleasant anticipation too much. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to give it her best effort. Lightly biting his earlobe, she murmured, "Tuscany?"

A low groan crept through those beautiful lips as he adjusted his swelling cock under her hips. "No."

"Amsterdam?" Isobel purred, lightly running her tongue up the straining cord of his neck.

His estimation in his sweet doll rose. She knew how much he loved the elegant, sordid possibilities of the Dutch capitol. "No."

She made a small, displeased noise in her throat that almost forced Thomas to cave, it was so adorable. "Morocco?"

Pulling her wandering hand away from his tenting pants, he attempted to look stern. "Babygirl, if you don't stop provoking me, there will be no nice vacation, only a hard spanking and a return home. Are you prepared to risk it?" Thomas almost felt sorry for her when Isobel retreated, eyes wide and anxious.

"No, daddy. I'm sorry. I was just excited," she pleaded, "don't be mad at me, all right?"

Smoothing her hair with one hand while the other attempted to adjust his harsh zipper rubbing against his erection, Thomas smiled lovingly. "Of course not, darling. Just relax now, I'll get you a drink." He groaned internally as he stood to make his way to the bar. His sweet little girl was becoming far too crafty for _his_ own good. Still, even as she'd grown in sophistication and confidence during her second year at Cambridge, she was still capable of being utterly shocked. As in, last weekend... Thomas's hand gripped the expensive tumbler so hard that he cracked it, making him release the shards with an irritable curse. A glance over his shoulder showed that Isobel was visiting the bathroom, so the man swept the chunks of crystal into the garbage and swiped his palm with a wet towel. 

"Thomas! What happened?" The cool hand of his doll was reaching for his, fingers gently sweeping over the small cut on the heel of his hand.

He forced himself to smile down at her concerned face. "It's nothing, darling. Just dropped a glass. See? It's already stopped bleeding."

Isobel nodded and took out the huge first-aid kit, always suspiciously over-stocked for something as innocuous as a corporate jet and dressed his palm, impulsively dropping a kiss on top of the bandage. Thomas felt a lurch in his frozen chest, looking at the top of her shiny hair, bent over his hand. The little moments of tenderness Isobel dared show him now were always oddly shocking- some part of him genuinely startled at her sincere efforts. Looking up, she smiled before letting go and turning to put the kit away. Drawing a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out in a huff, Thomas returned to making their drinks. Losing his temper over a silly little hen's night... 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

"Thomas?" He frowned, absently placing his cell phone closer to his ear- Isobel was out with some friends from school- she'd mentioned going to a "hen do" for a friend who was getting married, delicately asking his permission. When he nodded and smiled at her, he could see the relief on her pretty face. That must be the dull thud of noise nearly drowning out her voice.

"I can barely hear you, Isobel. How's the party?"

She spoke louder over the background noise. "I- I was wondering if you'd come pick me up?"

Frowning now, he pushed away from his desk- looking at his reflection in the tall office windows. He'd stayed late at the Corporation to work while Isobel celebrated with her girlfriends. "Are you all right?"

Isobel nervously cleared her throat, he could tell by the pitch of her voice that she was uncomfortable, nervous. "It's just- well, I don't want to be here. I didn't know they planned on coming _here_ , or I would have ducked out after dinner and just taken a cab-"

"Where are you?" Thomas cut her off, sapphire eyes cooling rapidly as he turned off his computer and stood.

"I really had no idea, I promise-"

"Where. Are. You?" Striding towards the office door, he attempted to not snarl at her apologetic tone.

Isobel groaned, "They called it Damnation Alley?" There was a silence, the girl cringing as she waited for him to answer.

"Those silly bitches took you to a KINK CLUB?" 

Yes. Thomas was furious. Isobel miserably wondered how much trouble she was in.

Even dreading his arrival, she gladly leaped to her feet when he came striding into the bar section, broad shoulders slicing through the crowd as Thomas looked for her. "Ah, there you are, darling," he purred, giving her a tender kiss while taking her hand. While the kiss was gentle, the grip on her hand was not. His polar gaze swept over the suddenly silent group of girls at the table. "Enjoying yourselves, ladies? Who's the lovely bride?" One girl raised her hand, the litter of champagne glasses before her clearly showing the celebration was past the point of no return. 

"That would be me," she smiled in a drunken attempt at seduction. "So you're the mysterious Thomas? How about-" she hiccuped, then tried to regain her balance, "-how about a kiss for the bride?"

Isobel groaned internally. This wasn't going well. Not at all. The less-drunk girls at the table shrank back under the weight of Thomas's stare. 

"I'm sure a lovely thing like you will find plenty of-" His beautiful eyes swept the room, painted a grimy gray and festooned with shackles and framed German porn, "whatever here to do the job. Goodnight, ladies." Smiling apologetically over her shoulder, Isobel gratefully let him lead her from the club. Being pulled behind him, she could see how people instinctively moved aside as Thomas strode for the entrance, even the leather-clad regulars recognizing a larger predator. Shutting the Jaguar's passenger door and moving swiftly to his own, the man could see his doll's hands shake slightly in her lap as he leaned over to fasten her seat belt, as always. Pulling smoothly out into traffic, he finally turned to look at her. "Interesting night, darling?"

Those pale eyes, a mint green in the passing traffic lights looked up to his in appeal. "I had no idea where we were going," Isobel tried to explain, "they said dinner and a club. I thought they meant dancing!" Her mouth twisted in distaste, "And then we walk into that creepy bar- all those ridiculous decorations!"

For the first time that night, she watched Thomas grin. "Ridiculous?"

Isobel snorted inelegantly, "Please. Whips and chains? Could they be any more obvious?" To her utter shock, her dark lover threw back his head and laughed.

"Darling," he managed, finally finishing what was a surprisingly cleansing laugh under control, "I'm so proud of you. Yes, that idiot bar attempts to be a BDSM club, but no one goes there but college students and tourists."

Maybe it was the two glasses of champagne she'd allowed herself, but Isobel said boldly, "And I suspect that you would know where the real ones are, wouldn't you?" The look he gave her was terrifying, but Isobel could still feel her center warming, moisture collecting against the thin silk of her underwear.

One gloved hand landed on her thigh, leather rasping against the smooth skin as it slid towards her crotch. "Why, Isobel..." That deep voice was heaven, deep and dripping with seductive promise. "Are you hinting that you would like to visit a _true_ dungeon?"

Whimpering a little as his index finger began rubbing up and down over the damp underwear, Isobel couldn't think of what to say. Her hips moved up involuntarily as his thumb pushed abruptly against the swelling surface of her clitoris.

"What was that, darling? I didn't hear you." Thomas was stifling his amusement, she could hear it, but still...that perfect elocution of his was promising all manner of dark delights, if she only said yes...

"I...ohhhh, Thomas!" Isobel moaned as one of those gloved fingers slipped under the flimsy cloth covering her, sliding into her channel.

His handsome face was in profile, still watching the road like a good driver would, as his long arm reached easily to her shaking body, pushing that leather-clad finger deeper. Isobel dazedly wondered if this was the pair she'd bought him for Christmas or another set. He'd run through his driving gloves quite often since discovering her "fondness" for them.

"Use your words, baby," he encouraged, turning on to their street and into the underground garage of their building. Another finger joined the first, stabbing more aggressively inside her, making her hand fly up and clutch the dashboard.

Head dropping back against her seat, Isobel tried to remember how to form a complete sentence as her treacherous hips attempted to help Thomas make her come. She groaned involuntarily as his fingers halted inside her as he pulled the Jaguar into their parking spot. "If you, um, if you wanted to, daddy..." To her relief, the thick fingers inside her began moving again, pressing harder against the tender front of her walls.

"Wanted to...what? Be a big girl." Thomas growled.

Isobel tried to clench her thighs together, wanted to push against his hand and seek some relief. It was impossible to picture the innocent girl who would have been horrified at the very _thought_ of giving in to a semi-public orgasm in his doll, moving against his gloved hand. "Iwouldgotoabondageclubifyouwantedtodaddy!" The girl finally gasped out, her hips pushing upwards as Thomas finally gave her the pressure and movement of his fingers that made her come. Watching her ride out her orgasm, he was struck again by her beauty, breasts heaving and that pink mouth open and panting. So beautiful, Thomas thought, and  _his_. His beautiful doll.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------- 

 

Irritably rubbing at his- once again- tenting trousers, Thomas vowed to think of stocks and annuities for the rest of the flight as punishment. Really. Sparking a boner like a teenage boy. What was wrong with him?

Smiling as Isobel twitched uncomfortably under the silk blindfold he'd slipped over her head while still on the jet, Thomas chuckled to recall her appalled expression.

"Now? You're going to make me wear this _now_?"

The last thing the outraged girl saw was his twinkling eyes as the silk obscured her vision. "Be a good girl for daddy, now. Good girls get treats, don't they Isobel?" Childishly, she mumbled something under her breath but followed him obediently as Thomas carefully led her off the jet and into the car.

Twisting her hands in her lap, she attempted to sound polite as she asked, "When can I take this off, daddy?" In a weak attempt at manipulation, Isobel said, "I've waited so long for my birthday surprise..." Scowling as the hateful man laughed out loud, she slumped back against the seat of the Mercedes.

"Use your senses, darling. See what they tell you." His voice, rich and warm, was right next to her ear, making Isobel shiver as Thomas rolled down the window next to her.

Tilting her head, the girl could hear the clamor of traffic, the jangle of a thousand different car radios and pedestrians. The sounds were just muffled enough that she couldn't catch the language. They passed by a restaurant, because Isobel blissfully sniffed the scent of roasting meat. Shrugging a little, she answered, "We're in a big city. Not a country retreat or the seaside."

"Why not a seaside town?" Thomas asked curiously.

"I can't smell the saltwater," Isobel explained. "We were only in the air for an hour or so- no more than two- despite your attempts to distract me." Thomas laughed again, cutting her off. It was true, his seduction made it difficult to gather how long it had been by the time the captain announced their descent. "Mmmm..." she sniffed happily, "restaurants on every corner! Everything smells so good..." When they finally stopped for a traffic light, she stiffened. "Yes! Paris!"

Thomas idly ran his thumb over her lip. "Now, how do you know that?"

Isobel started laughing, "I just barely heard a sentence that started with 'merde!'"

As they pulled to a stop, he took off her blindfold and Isobel gasped. It was dusk and all the lights were blinking on along the Avenue Gabriel as the bellman at the La Reserve opened her door. Looking back excitedly at Thomas, Isobel melted as he raised her hand and kissed it. "Happy Birthday, darling."

And it was the best birthday of her life, Isobel thought dreamily. They'd spent all the next day exploring everything she'd read about and never seen- a side-door entrance to the Louvre past the long line waiting to get in. Lunch at the Eiffel Tower. Thomas took her on a walking tour of the surprisingly steep section of Montmartre, and when she finally begged for a rest, back to their hotel suite for a long dinner in bed. Waking the next morning, Isobel shifted on the luxurious mattress, then groaned.

Looking up from his iPad, Thomas smiled knowingly. "Poor baby," he soothed, "are you sore from all that walking yesterday?"

Flushing red, Isobel shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. 

"Ah," his tone was darker now, more greedy, "then you are perhaps sore from me fucking you all night?" 

“Maybe…” she mumbled, still trying to avoid his amused gaze.

Passing by her, Thomas opened the door to their ridiculously palatial bathroom. “I don’t know if you’d had a chance to see the main reason I selected this particular suite,” he said casually, leaning against the door as he watched his doll rise slowly to her feet.

Isobel’s eyes widened as she gasped gleefully. “Is that…”

“Yes, darling,” Thomas purred, opening a door she’d not noticed before, “a huge marble tub, just for you.”

Mere moments later, Isobel was blissfully ensconced in the tub, laying back against the hard chest of Thomas, who was running the tips of his fingers in the lightest possible way over her skin. “Thank you…” she sighed blissfully, “...you are the loveliest man in the whole world.” The tub was in a narrow little room of it’s own, nearly open to the balcony and overlooking the Champs-Élysées. As they watched the historic avenue come alive, they discussed what to do with the day. “How many times have you been to Paris?” Isobel asked, turning her head to look up at his unshaven jaw.

Thomas shrugged, eyes on the park across the street and mentally examining advantageous locations for snipers. “I’ve lost count, darling. But most of the time, it was for business. Airport, hotel, meetings, airport, I’m afraid.”

Isobel turned and carefully straddled him, pleased that the warm water had soothed away most of her aches and strained muscles from a particularly acrobatic round balancing on the wrought iron railing of their terrace with her ankles around Thomas’s neck. “Would you show me your favorite spots?”

Brow raised, he looked down at her eager face. How beautifully this dovetailed into his plans for the evening, he not-quite gloated. “If you like.” Thomas said, kissing her nose. When Isobel bravely reached for his swelling cock, he gently moved her hand away. Watching her face fall, he kissed her again. “Darling, you know that I want you quite literally every hour of the day and night. But I would like you to relax today. No more aches and pains.” The girl couldn’t hide her surprise, Thomas had never waved off one of her timid approaches, but she nodded obediently and rose to get dressed.

As sublime as the day before had been, Isobel was amazed at how utterly perfect that afternoon in Paris could be. Thomas took her for a run in his favorite park, the Coulée verte René-Dumont, along a leafy footpath and over a bridge, right in the middle of the city. They dined at the Shakespeare and Company Cafe, both lost in one of the many volumes by the Bard himself, scattered through the old stone eatery. Then, Thomas took her hand in his big, warm palm and began strolling, turning in and out of tiny side streets, stopping to let her exclaim over a magical little shop or gaze in admiration as a group of artists tried to recreate the exquisite afternoon sun over the River Seine. Isobel couldn't keep the smile off her face. It was perhaps the most blissful handful of hours she'd ever experienced, but to have her wildly driven lover ambling along with her seemed impossible. "You're so..." she ventured, looking up at Thomas. Those translucent blue eyes gazed down at hers, making the girl sway towards him. Isobel had never seen his eyes so clear- they were candid and open as if she could swim to the bottom of him.

"So what, darling?" His amused question broke her concentration and Isobel blushed.

"I suppose I've just...never seen you this relaxed," she admitted. "There's usually a schedule, something we need to do."

Thomas took her hand again and continued walking. "Ah, but we are doing something," he explained, " _la flânerie_."

 _"La flânerie,"_ Isobel mused. "I'm not sure...something about 'to wander?'"

Idly pulling her hand up to kiss it, he nodded. "Quite close. The term literally means to get lost in the streets of Paris. You watch. You learn."

"To get lost," she pondered, shaking her head a little, "from a man who always seems to know where he's going." 

There were many times in the following years that Isobel unfolded the tattered memory of that afternoon to relive the most beautiful moments she'd ever spent with Thomas.

 

As the sun began to set, they came back to the hotel, flushed from the sun and the afternoon together. "This has been such a perfect birthday," Isobel sighed, resting her head on Thomas's shoulder in the lift, "thank you." As the doors opened and two men stepped on, she lifted her head and watched him step subtly between her and the new arrivals, fixing them with a stare as they looked at her appreciatively. Wilting slightly under his gaze, they turned to watch the numbers move on the lift's display. Isobel's eyes lowered to the carpet. This sort of protectiveness from Thomas was so natural that she doubted he even knew he did it. But even during their relaxed afternoon, he'd kept his big body between hers and passers-by. When he opened the door to their suite and ushered her in, his gaze was polar blue again, his beautiful face back in it's impassive lines.

"Darling," called Thomas, "there's something for you on the bed when you get out of the shower. I want you to wear it tonight."

There was no way she'd be lingering in the shower after an intriguing statement like that, so Isobel rushed through washing her hair, wrapping a fleecy towel around her head and racing for the bedroom. "Ooooo..." she sighed. The dress was black, sophisticated and simple in a way that only a ridiculously expensive one could be. Checking the label, she bit back a smile. Stella McCartney. Of course. A gorgeous flared skirt and a fitted top made from a silky combination of sheer black layers. The spaghetti straps meant she'd be going without a bra tonight, since the only underwear provided was a sheer black pair of panties. She could hear his deep voice outside in the living room, the clipped tone meaning he was addressing someone at work. But when he opened the door to see Isobel slipping on the black heels he'd provided, Thomas had to fight down a growl.

The sweet girl he’d first seen in the mansion’s gardens six years ago had turned into an exquisite woman- her high cheekbones and leaner face just as he’d pictured them back then. The black dress was elegant, not her usual style, but it set off her toned legs and beautiful back perfectly.

She smiled up at him shyly. “Will I do?” She asked, making a graceful little twirl. Eyes blazing, Thomas made a little movement with his finger to indicate she should twirl again.

“Again, darling.” His voice was a bit hoarse, she noticed with surprise. “Slowly.”

Obeying him, Isobel looked at his perfectly fitted grey suit and charcoal and sapphire tie.

“Look at me.” Forcing her eyes up, she chewed on her lower lip for a moment, concerned at his expressionless face.

“Is this all right?” Isobel asked nervously, “I could change if-”

His hand swept up the long column of her neck, wedging his thumb under her chin to raise it. “You are perfection, Isobel. Exquisite.”

Shuddering a little at the dark purr just behind his compliment, she nodded and smiled nervously as he led her from the suite.

The meal that night was spectacular, Thomas recovering from his overpowering surge of possessiveness at seeing how divine his lovely doll looked. As they lingered for a moment of “little bitty cups of tar” -cappuccino as described by Isobel, she grinned at him eagerly.

Leaning back and smoothing his tie, Thomas looked at her, amused. “What is going through that clever brain of yours?”

“Where are you taking me?” She asked, “You would never dress me up like this if you didn’t have plans.” He laughed as Isobel wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully at him.

Eyes narrowed, Thomas smiled, the very expression of sin. “First, a drink. A specialty here at La Fée Verte.”

He watched her awed expression as the waiter smoothly prepared glasses of absinthe for them both, pouring the green liquid over the cube of sugar as her eyes grew larger. “I’ve never had this before,” she whispered as their server left the bottle and retreated.

“I would imagine it unlikely,” Thomas lifted his glass, indicating she do the same. “To the Green Fairy,” he toasted, and they each had a sip. “And to a memorable evening,” he added devilishly, enjoying the way Isobel’s thighs clamped together without her even noticing it.

 

His lovely doll was just a tad unsteady on those sky-high heels after they left La Fée Verte, slipping into the car waiting for them at the curb. Thomas leaned forward and uttered some rapid fire instructions in French, then kissed her hand again. Isobel’s eyes were beautiful tonight, he noted, with suddenly enlarged pupils that made her look utterly debauched. When the car pulled up to an elegant brick building, she looked up to him.

Thomas declined to enlighten her as he offered a card to a discreet man at the doorway, then again to the woman inside, who was not discreet at all. The blonde in fact, was wearing only tiny satin panties that exposed her pert ass and nipple piercings. Isobel's eyes narrowed a fraction as the blonde stared greedily at Thomas, then flicked a dismissive glance at her. Suddenly feeling a bit like a child wearing her mother's fancy dress, the girl gritted her teeth and attempted to regain her composure. If this place was what she thought it was, she was going to need all the confidence she could get.

Really, thought Isobel in a dazed sort of way, the decor of this place made Damnation Alley in London look like some sort of pitiful adult-based Disneyland. The place was lush- no whips and chains displayed as decor, but each room they passed through became darker, more exotic. Thomas paused at one, watching a scene where a man was running a fiery glove over the heaving breasts of the woman on the table, sweeping up the flames behind on her skin with the other hand. Isobel was frozen, watching the reddened skin aflame and the woman's groans. As the liquid fire began sweeping towards her desperately spread legs, Thomas took Isobel's hand and led her away. In the next chamber, three men were calmly discussing the weather as women knelt before them, clearly sucking them off. She could heart the slurps and moans from their mouths suckling the man's cocks and Isobel stifled a gasp. She'd never seen anyone do... _it_ , outside of the occasional blatant sex scene in a movie. The sweaty heat of the room, along the obscene noises they made made her flush and look up to see Thomas staring at her, gauging her reaction. "Not a tourist and college student kind of club, then," she managed, watching that devilish smile sweep across his face.

"Some clubs do not allow sex in public rooms," he commented, moving her past a woman on a St. Andrew's Cross being enthusiastically flogged by her Domme. "When there's so much to experiment with, many members think fucking is a waste of time."

"Oh- okay..." Isobel managed to mumble.

“Okay, what?” Thomas snapped back, and she looked up into his dark eyes, that expression of cruelty had returned.

Shivering in a stray breeze of cool air, she whispered, “Okay, daddy?”

His hand smoothed over one flushed cheek. “There’s my good girl…”

 

There was more. Naked people in cages, eagerly offering whatever hole the crowd around them wanted to use. 'I should be more shocked,' Isobel thought. But while the images were shockingly clear, there was a fuzzy sort distance from them that she suspected came from their nightcap with the Green Fairy. She obediently sat on Thomas's lap, feeling the smooth wool slide against her bare legs. 

"Drink this, babygirl." Thomas's voice was right at her ear, forcing her to open her lips and take a sip of the drink he held to her mouth. The licorice notes made her realize she was drinking absinthe again. The small, rational part of her brain was groaning with fear. This was the kind of place where any filthy, depraved act could happen. What would Thomas _do_ to her? Could she refuse, use her safe word in front of all these people? A few feet away, one of the leather-clad males was lifting a redhead not much older than Isobel roughly on to a kind of a rocking horse. It had an adult-sized saddle and an alarmingly large dildo fastened in the middle, aiming up and ramming into the redhead as the club's master dropped her on to it. Isobel froze as the victim screamed, her hands tied behind her back and balancing precariously on her tiptoes to keep the cruel phallus from penetrating her further. Two well-dressed men paused in front of the bizarre tableau- drinking and watching avidly as the man with her kicked the rocking horse into action, making the poor girl wail again as she struggled and slipped, the dildo pushing up again.

To her vague horror, Isobel could feel Thomas's heat and pressure behind her as he unzipped his trousers and settled her more firmly on his lap. "Daddy?" She managed, "What are you-" He hushed her as his wide palms slid up her thighs, bringing the gauzy skirt with them. Isobel tried to shift- to cover herself- but by then Thomas was hooking his thumbs in her undies and pulling them down her legs. Thomas spread her flowing skirt back over her thighs, covering her bare center. Isobel licked her dry lips. "Daddy, I don't think...I can't..." She could feel those big hands pause on her hips, waiting. The warmth of them went through the thin fabric of her skirt and on to her chilled skin. Even while she protested, Isobel couldn't tear her eyes away from the bound girl on the terrifying contraption, still tiptoeing and stumbling as she tried to keep her balance. When the redhead's brown eyes suddenly met hers, Isobel jumped, trying to look away, to not stare, but she didn't. A scream came from the girl as her pelvis slid all the way on to the gigantic rubber prong, and she screamed again as one of the suited men slapped her ass smartly with a cane.

"Take it, whore." His voice was bored, the accent German. He swiped the cane across her clenched bottom and the redhead wailed. But she didn't take her eyes off Isobel's as she began to rock a little on the monstrous horse.

Thomas took that moment to easily lift Isobel, hovering her over his heated cock. She could feel him stroking it against her open slit, soaking up some of her moisture to slick him. Isobel thought she'd shriek and beg him to stop, but her terrifying daddy's cock began sliding up her channel, then down again. It took her a minute to realize he was using the same pace as the panting girl rocking back and forth, occasionally instructed to move faster with another snap of the cane. When Isobel made a movement to push her hands down on his thighs to pull herself away, Thomas instantly gathered both her wrists, held together by one hand behind her back as the other went to her hips, stabilizing her as he began to sharply buck his hips up and down. "Oh..." she groaned, "you're too thick tonight, daddy."

They were beginning to draw their own crowd now, Isobel moaned in humiliation as she realized this, even one of the men tormenting the redhead turning to watch. A leering smile spread across his face as he turned between one bouncing girl and the other. None of the crowd was distracting Isobel from her staring match with her filthy sister, both receiving painful, juicy poundings. Her nipples were tenting the light fabric over her breasts, easily seen by everyone in the room. To Isobel, it was worse that they could see her face- see her expression of sick fascination as she watched the redhead careening towards a climax.

“They’re all looking at you,” Thomas whispered, malice and arousal both thick in his throat. “The women are wishing they could be used in such a whoreish way. The men…” he gave a low, savage chuckle that chilled her. “The men want to yank you off my cock. They want to throw you face-down on the floor and see all your slick glistening on your thighs. They’d take turns, Isobel…” She made a choked noise in her throat, and Thomas wondered if he’d gone too far. But his doll continued staring at her counrerpart furiously churning on the gigantic rubber dick and let him bounce her harder. “They’d take turns shoving their cocks inside that greedy little snatch of yours, making you wetter and sloppy with their come. And you’d just lie there and take it, wouldn’t you, baby? Just lie there for daddy and let them do anything…” By the last of his filthy, terrifying monologue, Isobel was no longer listening. She opened her mouth as she came then, nothing but a gasp coming out as she watched the redhead pump screaming into her own finish. “Such a good girl,” groaned the man who owned her body and soul, “Daddy is so very proud of his good girl.” Isobel’s eyes fluttered shut as she felt Thomas’s come boil up her passage, burning and stinging her sore pussy as the murky crowd around them applauded.

 


	25. All The Better To Fuck You With, My Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel and Thomas try to ride the tumultuous storms of mysterious Corporation life- while still finding time for a satisfying round of fisticuffs. And, fucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMIGOD! misreall just updated "The Road To Hel..." and I am a little prejudiced, because she kindly included my Thomas and Maura- but the chapter is to DIE FOR. Do not miss it! http://archiveofourown.org/works/8591122/chapters/25323900

“Bonjour, je cherche l'agent de la Directive étrangère.” Isobel was murmuring in conversation with the French homework on her laptop. It was over a year since that beautiful trip to Paris- the moment she’d been absolutely certain she belonged with ('and to!' a spiteful little voice whispered) Thomas... Daddy... whoever he wanted to be. She came home with a determination to learn French and added it to her course load at Cambridge.

“J'ai les documents sur le Sommet de Belgique.” Isobel shuddered for a moment as her rebellious memory flashed back to the (‘not-for-tourists!’ her memory chimed anxiously) club where Thomas made her ride him, to fuck him while watching the redhead struggle through the painful requirements of her erotic moment. The whole night was so confusing for Isobel (‘he waited when I said I wasn’t sure,’ her treacherous memory whispered, ‘I never used my safe word'...) that as always, she simply pushed the thought away.

“Si vous avez le fichier prêt, je peux le renvoyer à l'Ambassadeur Martine.”

Isobel looked up a huge smile crossing her lips as Thomas came through the door. Setting his briefcase down in the closet, He gave her a sultry once-over in return. He loved that about his doll, that she was still so unguarded with her emotions. He knew he occasionally terrified her, and that sometimes she even _enjoyed_ it. But it was clear that she was in love with him. The thought sent another odd lurch through his chilly heart. "Your accent is far more authentic," he approved. "Are you nearly finished for the night?"

"Just finishing up some coursework before my finals next week," she remarked, gathering up some of the papers scattered around her.

Thomas nodded his head as he pulled off his suit jacket. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, his expression was nothing but polite inquiry, but inside he was grinning at his sweet doll's eyes, trained attentively on his tanned forearms. Yet another reason that he still loved her unguarded nature, he mused, it was so easy to discover more of Isobel's ever-increasing list of kinks- most revolving around him. 

"Êtes-vous fatigué, chérie?" Thomas purred. 

Her pale eyes left his arms and returned his gaze. "Non, dois-je faire le dîner? Avez-vous faim, papa?"

Thomas shook his head. "Pas de nourriture, chérie." Idly pulling off his tie, he shook his head. "Mais vous avez tant d'études à faire pour faire, oui?"

"Juste un peu," Isobel whispered, her heart beating faster. "Je pourrais m'arrêter pour la nuit."

Her daddy sternly shook his head, pulling her to her feet. "Ce serait irresponsable. Permettez-moi de vous aider, petit."

Isobel could not have explained how it happened so quickly, but mere moments later her wrists were tied and hung to yet another nearly-invisible hook on a door, tiptoes treading the hardwood beneath as Thomas began removing her clothes. "D-daddy? Ah, Papa?" She stopped as the tip of Thomas's tongue ran up the line of her throat and slid into her mouth, stroking her own as he kissed her. And oh, how that man could kiss! Isobel thought, his firm mouth knowing how to press so softly against hers, but sometimes slamming down harshly, splitting her full lower lip, both of them tasting blood. But her favorite were these, slow, long, sucking kisses that made her lips anxiously chase his and her mouth open for him at the first nudge of his tongue. "Comment j'aime tes bisous..." she moaned.

Thomas grunted. "Et ma le zob? Aimez-vous cela?"

"Papa!" Isobel gasped, giggling a little at the filthy translation.

One of his rough hands was tunneling up her tank top, smoothing along her ribs and over her taut breasts, raised higher by her bound position. "Parce que j'adore ta le minou. Tellement doux, toujours tellement humide pour moi." When Thomas slid to his knees and placed her legs over his shoulders, Isobel moaned. Her French lesson was clearly over for the day. 

"Comment connaissez-vous tous les mots sales en français?" She sighed as his fingers spread her lips as he looked at her pussy with a gloating expression.

Waiting until she managed to look back down to him, Thomas murmured devilishly, "D'autant mieux vous baiser, mon cher." As his lips closed over her already throbbing clitoris, Isobel clenched her bound hands together with a moan.

It was only moments before her thighs resting on Thomas's shoulders begin to shake violently. There was something so strange about him going down on her – the orgasms were different, sharper. Maybe part of it was it her still battling the utter embarrassment of him so close to all those soft, hidden parts of her. Thomas would play with his fingers, as his mouth worked her over. One long finger slid up her pussy while his thumb stroked through her wetness, then pushing into her anus. His beautiful azure eyes looked over her mound to narrow in amusement as Isobel moaned, then stiffened. She buried her head in her bound arm for a moment until Thomas sharply bit one plump lip. Pulling off his mouth and giving her one sloppy, full-tongue lick from the top to the bottom of her, he playfully rubbed his whiskered cheek on her inner thigh. 

"Don't be a bad girl," he purred, nuzzling between her lips again. "Keep those beautiful eyes on daddy." His thumb and finger were still wedged inside her passages as far as they could go, but Thomas held them still as he waited for her rigid body to relax. "Did you know," he gave her another appreciative lick, "that just as you're going to come, you eyes are...it's a shade of green I've not seen in eye color before..." His thumb and forefinger moved together, pinching the thin membrane between them.

Isobel's supple back went into a painful arch. "Oh, GOD! Daddy, this is- it's too much it feels like too much!"

Still rolling that agile tongue around her clitoris, Thomas chuckled into her pussy. "Oh, baby girl..." his voice was guttural now, more of a growl. "You've taken so much more than this, haven't you?" He didn't scold her when her head fell back with a painful "thunk!" against the wall, his filthy, delicious doll was just about to come, and he groaned as both of her wet channels tightened down on his digits inside her. "Your eyes," Thomas rubbed his scruffy chin directly on her sensitive clitoris. "They're Byzantine. Exquisite. Ah, there you are." Isobel gasped, trying to gather breath to scream out her orgasm. Thomas always seemed enchanted when she came for him, watching her shake and tremble with a dark kind of pleasure. 

Isobel could dimly feel his nimble fingers take the binding tie off her wrists and draping her arms over his shoulders for stability. Carrying her into their bedroom, Thomas toed off his shoes and put her on the soft goose down cover on their bed, spooning up behind her to encase her in his heat. The room was silent, just the soft sound of his kisses on her neck and hair. 

"I like the quiet," Isobel whispered. 

The broad chest behind her rumbled in agreement. Life at the Corporation seemed exceptionally demanding recently- more early morning phone calls from Number One- the only man alive who'd dare to wake Thomas at 2am. He'd left abruptly on mysterious trips more than once, simply explaining that he was "handling some high-maintenance clients." This was true, after a fashion. Thomas "handled" the last client who tried to cheat them by cutting off some soft body parts and sending them gift-wrapped to the unfortunate company's board of directors, suggesting they find a replacement CEO. No one was eager for the job. Even for a man like Thomas, whose brilliant, restless mind was always thinking three steps ahead- or twenty- it was exhausting. "Then let's stay in, baby girl. I'll order some takeout and you can pick the movie."

His frozen chest twinged again at the look of open delight as Isobel turned to kiss him. "We can have a picnic in bed?"

Mentally shuddering at the thought of crumbs on his pristine pillows, Thomas still smiled. "Of course." Standing to grab his cellphone, he turned to Isobel, who gasped. Looking up with a frown, he asked "What?"

With one appalled hand over her mouth, his lovely doll pointed to his crotch. Thomas looked down to see the very evident stains from their combined orgasms on the crotch and legs of his tightly-tailored trousers. "I'm sorry daddy, I'll get them to the dry cleaners, I'm so-"

He cut her off with a kiss. "Darling, do you really think this is the first pair I've sent in with your delicious scent all over them? I'm actually becoming irritated that the 76 year old woman who runs the cleaners is allowed to smell you." Thomas knew this would do precisely the opposite of comforting his Isobel, but he did so enjoy that pretty flush she had when embarrassed. Laughing, he tipped her chin up and kissed her. "Not to worry, love. Mrs. Wan is very discreet." Walking to the door, he looked over his shoulder at her beautiful, pink face. "What are we watching tonight?"

Isobel's eyes lit up hopefully. "The Princess Bride?"

Eyes narrowed, Thomas smiled meaningfully. "As you wish."

 

The following afternoon was one of her twice-weekly lessons with her irritable Israeli trainer. Thomas has inexplicably insisted she double her workouts at the first of the year, and that wasn't all. Simja suddenly switched from defensive moves to aggressive ones, patiently teaching Isobel some rather brutal moves to incapacitate an opponent. She told the girl to practice daily. When Isobel worked up the courage to protest, given her demanding ballet rehearsals, the woman has angrily stopped her with a glare. 

"Which one of these will save your life one day, Isobel? Your pretty toe shoes? Will anyone with a knife- two men- three! Will they stop for your third position?"

"You don't have to be rude," Isobel mumbled. 

Simja stepped closer. "It seems I do. Will you practice? Every day?" Frowning, the girl stared at her trainer. The stern Israeli looked- frightened? Concerned?

"I will, I promise," Isobel assured her. Anything to take that expression off Simja's face. She'd never seen, never imagined the woman could show the fear she saw there. "I promise," she said, nodding for emphasis. 

Numbly, Isobel retreated to the woman's locker room after her workout. Thomas has sent a dress and accessories to the Corporation, instructing Isobel to be ready for an event that night. Sighing, she took in the dress. It was black, severe, scarily glamorous. This meant a business affair, with everyone's nerves string tighter than a violin's and just as ready to snap. Isobel was, after all, an expert on picking up the emotional currents in the room. This kept her (and Ari) clear from the worst of her parent's battlefields. And Thomas tended to "armor" her on these nights, in styles designed to make her look older and more sophisticated. Applying the smoky eye and strong lip stain that would fit the outfit, the girl's mind wandered back to the look of almost desperation on the usually stoic Simja's face. What was she trying to tell her? Further setting her guard up was a run-in with Number 3- Tom- just outside the locker rooms.

"My lovely Isobel," he grinned, smacking those thick lips at her as if the girl was a steak. "You do look good enough to eat."

"Don't tease," she protested, "Thomas will be by any moment."

Tom's brown eyes narrowed at that. "Then you know?..."

Brows drawn together, Isobel asked "Know? Know what?"

Sighing, Number 3 took her arm and moved to the side of the hall. "That southern bitch? Magnolia? She'll be there tonight. I know she's a jealous cow and hates you for being young-" he started counting on his fingers, making her laugh, "-beautiful, and for making Williams worship the ground you walk on. Three things she cannot seem to manage."

Isobel sighed, the smile fading from her lips. "She Is beautiful. You know it. And yes, she does hate me."

Leaning forward conspiratorially, Tom smiled, his warm brown eyes soothing. "Not to worry. If Thomas has his back turned for a moment, you have only to look for me."

"Thank you, Tom," Isobel said, swept by a sudden gratitude to the man who seemed to have nothing to gain by being kind to her, other than being kind.

"Look to you for what, Harding?"

Isobel groaned internally. Of course Thomas had to pick that exact moment to appear. Of course. Suddenly aware that Tom's hand was still wrapped around her arm, she removed it before her coldly seething daddy could do it. "Thank you, Tom. We'll see you there."

The client dinner was just as horrible as only a spiteful redhead from the American South could make it. Magnolia's high peal of laughter rang over Isobel's head many times that night, other diners at the elegant Dinner by Heston Blumenthal frowning at the noise. The restaurant overlooked Hyde Park, and the girl was very much wishing she was hiding in the trees there, rather than avoiding the stares from the other, elegant couples just hoping for a quiet meal. Despite the repeated entreaties from the host, the noise continued until a fistful of banknotes discreetly slipped to the sweating manager as Thomas coldly addressed the table in clipped, even tones. Even the South African guests were chastened and the meal continued at a more sedate level until Magnolia stood.

"Fuck this dump, gennlmenn!" Isobel cringed, the older woman was already drunk, and loud in that oblivious way that only the really shitfaced seem to manage. "Less go party at The Box!"  A cheer went up from the South Africans, and Thomas closed his eyes tiredly. Lots of naked girls and flowing cocaine. Their clients will be ecstatic. And he'd be taking Isobel elsewhere. 

“Oh, daddy…” Isobel whispered as Thomas leaned his dark head down to her, “thank you! This is so much better than- well…” She closed her eyes as he whispered in her ear, the smell of the scotch he had with dinner, the scent of his cologne and warmth of his body overwhelming her.

“You’re very welcome, baby girl. You deserve a lovely ending after dealing with that lot tonight. Not my favorites, I’m afraid.” Thomas absently ran the knuckles of one hand up and down the backless dress, exposing his doll’s long, elegant spine. Enjoying her little shiver, he whispered, "This is far more agreeable, I assure you."

Gulping half her wine for courage, Isobel ventured, "Why does Magnolia seem to have so much power in the Corporation?" She ignored Thomas stiffening in his chair and continued, "I know Number One hates 'a fuss,' as he calls them. Tonight was a nightmare and he just sat back and smiled."

Thomas was silent for so long that she began to fear she'd pushed him too far. Taking a sip of Jameson, he looked around XOYO, absently admiring all the pretty gold tables and shadowy alcoves, one of which hosted them. "Magnolia's father was one of the original partners at Jaguar Holdings. He and Strong started the company. He was my mentor."

Isobel's jaw dropped. This, she had not expected. "So that's why she shows up at the Board of Director's meetings. But, she's not involved in Corporation dealings, is she?"

He fixed her with a polar stare. "That is not your concern. But she has many...issues...that make me want to keep you far from her."

"What issues, Thomas?" Isobel knew she was pushing her luck, but she had to know about the odd hold the southerner seemed to have on him. With anyone else he despised, her terrifying daddy would simply eviscerate them verbally and leave them scuttling away. "Is her father's old position the reason everyone lets her do...things?"

"As I said Isobel," Thomas said impatiently, downing his drink and signaling for another, "her father James was my mentor. He backed my entry into Jaguar Holdings and taught me a great deal. His daughter- Magnolia- she was always there at the office, it seemed."

Isobel's lips felt numb. but she carefully took another sip, trying not to spill. "You dated, then."

Thomas gave an wholly uncharacteristic snort. "No. We fucked." He ignored the hurt expression that Isobel tried to wipe away immediately. "James made it clear he approved of the match. But-" here, he shuddered, "-I assure you, I did not. The woman is vicious and insane in a way that is not...containable."

"But now she hates you for rejecting her and that's why she hates me," the girl nodded. At least it made ore sense.

But he shrugged, looking around the room again. "She'd hate you no matter where she'd found you, darling. You are everything she is not." Isobel's instincts were kicking in again, Thomas was agitated, aggressive. He looked around the chic bar as if trying to goad someone into giving him a reason to strike.

Taking his hand, she leaned in and whispered, "Will you take me home, daddy? I'm lonely for you."

Looking back down to her, a slow smile spread across his beautiful lips. "I can do that, darling." Hastily settling the tab, he not-quite yanked Isobel out of their booth and walked rapidly across the floor, just barely brushing shoulders with a couple of heavily-muscled men. 

As they left, the door slammed open behind them. "OY!" Shouted one of the gym rats, "Fucking arsehole! You shoved me!"

Thomas made an impatient noise, but continued pulling Isobel down the street towards where they'd parked the Jaguar. Isobel looked back for a moment to see their 'roided muscle masses had expanded to four. "Should we apologize?" she whispered to him, making Thomas pause and look down at her irritably.

"To those idiot twats? No."

By then, the four had caught up with them, trying to surround the couple. "You're going to apologize, fucker, or we're going to take your slag, here."

For possibly the first moment they'd been together, Isobel was less worried about trying to keep Thomas from murdering someone than simply doing it herself. How _dare_ they? How did they dare call her such a thing?

By the wide smile spreading shark-like across Thomas's lips, Isobel knew this wasn't going to end well. Looking around for help, she found they were on a quiet end of the street, just outside an alley and that by the time she turned around again, he was between her and the men, having already knocked one out and dragging another by the neck into the darker area between the buildings. Her attention was yanked back by another gym rat, shorter than the others but with the same hateful leer. "C'mon, then, you little scrubber. Let's get you warmed up and my mates-" There was a wet, crunching sort of noise and he cupped his hands over his spurting nose, screaming, "ye fuckin' cunt! Ye broke my nose!"

Isobel's teeth were gritted, but she was filled with an odd sense of exhilaration, effectively driving an elbow into his larynx while sending one of her delightfully pointy Jimmy Choos right into his nuts. Her would be-rapist fell in a crouch on his side, screaming shrilly and holding his package with both hands. Isobel's chance to gloat was removed by the man not currently getting the tar beaten out of him by Thomas seizing a fistful of her hair. "You fancy fuck! Drop my boy or I'm cutting her tits off!" To Isobel's horror, he pulled a wickedly long knife, unpleasantly gleaming in the weak light and looking alarmingly sharp.

But, apparently he was not the only one carrying. Thomas's hand slipped into his suit jacket and came out in a slinging motion. Even later, Isobel could not have said she ever saw the knife, only perhaps a flash of silver before a blade was buried in the thug's hand handing her hair. With a screech like a barn owl's he dropped Isobel's curls and backed off, staring at the knife blade extending from the back of his hand to sticking six inches out of his palm. Isobel shut him up as quickly as she could think to do- by viciously boxing his ears and sending a stiff fingered strike to his throat, choking the man and sending him gurgling to his knees. Within moments, Thomas had finished off the man in the alley, yanked his blade out of the third thug's hand- causing him to give out that odd, bird-like screech again- and seized Isobel's hand, running around the corner and away from the four bloody men still lying on the ground, clutching various portions of their anatomy in utter agony. They ran for three or four blocks, before Isobel slowed, her high heels refusing to take another step. Looking around, Thomas pulled her into an alcove between two brownstones. "You delightfully bloodthirsty little bitch..." he said lovingly, "you were magnificent."

To Isobel's utter astonishment, not only was she not upset about what had just happened- the first time she'd ever committed violence in her life- but that she was wildly aroused. Groaning, she rubbed up against the long, hard body of the man looming over her, pulling on his tie to lean closer to her lips. For a moment, she was was alarmed when Thomas pulled back, those icy eyes looking her over carefully. Then, the facade cracked and he nearly yanked her to his mouth, attacking her lips clumsily and biting on the lower one, pulling it out with a nip. Digging her nails into his neck, Isobel moaned and rubbed against him shamelessly, suddenly blind with her need to have this man fuck her- to fill her up- 

And he did. Pulling the bloody switchblade out of his jacket, Thomas idly ran the sharp tip down his dirty little girl's cheek. Her eyes were flashing, bright like he'd never seen them. Her pretty, expensive dress was torn and there was blood on her skinned elbow and knee. And her lips were bloody- red from biting his mouth so greedily. And then, she said the thing that snapped the last of his self-control.

"What'cha looking at, Tommy?" Isobel purred, desperate to be on his cock, dress hiked up and riding him like-

She gave a stifled shriek as the blade passed down the front of her expensive dress, ripping it off her and tearing through her bra. Thomas knicked her once, a little slice under her left breast. She could see the regret form in his eyes, then her terrifying, arousing, confusing lover sucked the cut into his mouth and lapped at her as the girl groaned and shuddered. The knife continued down to sheer away her undies and leave her bare. Isobel's shaking hands were rapidly at the waist of his trousers, pulling down the zipper and grasping his hard length inside, pulling him free and dropping to her skinned knees to take him into her mouth. Thomas groaned, a harsh rattle that made her suck harder, his hand fisting in her hair like he'd never done and pushing her back down on his cock, abruptly invading her throat and ignoring that lovely little gag she'd make when swallowing him. After moving his hips greedily for a moment, Thomas yanked her off his cock, pulling Isobel up by a harsh grip on her upper arms that would leave black marks the next morning. Brow furrowed, he stared at his sweet doll.

Isobel leaned closer, running the tip of her tongue on the seam of his mouth so he could taste the tartness of his precome. "Fuck me, Tommy."

With a groan, Thomas shoved her against the brick and hoisted her inelegantly up, then down straight on his cock, sending him through her and slamming through her cervix. He cut off her shriek by sealing his mouth against hers and bounced her violently, up and down. He could feel her sharp heels digging into the bare skin just under his ass, and he groaned and thrusted even harder.

Pressing her forehead against his heaving shoulder, Isobel gasped and clung to Thomas. It hurt. So much because he didn't wait but in a good way- in such a good way and the sting and the sensation of tearing was giving way to a white, hot heat that seared all through her cunt and had her hunch harder on his thick, driving tool and fuck him right back. It didn't take long to come, Isobel's back arching and shoving him away from the wall. With a grunt, Thomas shoved her back against the solid brick and drove into her harder than she'd ever felt him.

"Take it, dirty girl. Take my cock like you wanted to. TAKE IT!" With a shuddering groan, Thomas erupted inside her, feeling that warm little pussy clench against him as her heels dig painfully into her back. "Is that what you wanted, my sweet doll?" He managed to gasp between panting, "Did you need that fucking from daddy?"

Head buried in the point where his neck net his broad shoulder, Isobel could only shiver and groan. "Yes, Tomm- daddy. God..."

Finally finding enough strength in his legs to pull her off his seeping cock, Thomas pulled off his jacket to cover her exposed breasts and sliced dress. "C'mon little girl. I'm not done with you yet."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***I'm too lazy to translate their entire conversation, but Isobel is asking Thomas how he knows all the dirty words in French, and after their sexy banter, he replies with, "All the better to fuck you with, my dear," aka: a filthy Little Red Riding Hood. My apologies to my French-speaking friends if some of these lines are not completely correct, I tried two or three translation services, but feel free to enlighten me, please.


	26. "You Can't Stop Me, Little Girl. I Own You."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel makes a Deal With the Devil. At the worst possible moment.
> 
> BTW: another heart-wrenching Loki chapter from misreall here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8591122/chapters/25808694
> 
> And utterly, delightfully filthy Loki smut from Hurricanerin here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11012967

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG gigantic trigger warnings for non-consensual sex, anal sex, knifeplay, and really rough sexual play. I don't want anyone to be hurt or upset by this, please skip the chapter if the warning makes you uncomfortable.

 

May:

“Darling? You haven’t slept in an age. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

Isobel rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, looking up apologetically at Thomas’s concerned expression. “I’m sorry, Daddy. There’s just so much to do before I go on this ballet tour…” She did feel terrible to see Thomas looking her over, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and her greasy hair. It was just...well, he’d been out of town for work for so many days this month that her grooming fell by the wayside. With the worst possible timing, her last, major performance with the ballet company stretched over the next week- her largest role yet- as the lead in "Carmina Burana," was scheduled just before the week of her finals to graduate from Cambridge. She’d loved the symmetry of her last performance with the company being the first ballet she’d shared with Thomas. He’d taken her to see the Royal Ballet and many others in the interim, but that first surprise...wearing the tie she’d given him for Christmas as a silly 17 year old...it still warmed her heart. It was held in the little treasure box of her memories, the things she pulled out to explore again every time Thomas frightened or confused her.

His dark brows furrowed. “Is this all you’ve been doing while I’ve been gone, Isobel?” Thomas put down his briefcase and shrugged out of his suit jacket. “I distinctly remember telling you to sleep and eat while I was in Japan. Did you ignore my instructions?”

To her embarrassment, Isobel felt tears prickle her tired eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” She brushed back some limp strands of hair hanging in her face. “There was just...so much to do and I don’t sleep well when you’re gone and I thought I shouldn’t waste the time because-”

"When did this happen?"

"Not wasting time?" She sniffled, "Well, you're paying for my ridiculously expensive education, the least I can do is graduate with honors and not waste the opportun-"

"No, darling," Thomas said patiently, sitting down and pulling her on to his lap. "How long have you not slept well?"

Thomas effectively stopped the anxious flow of excuses by putting one hand under her chin and shutting her mouth with a snap. Isobel looked down, ashamed. She was 22 now, old enough not to lie awake  for hours when she was alone in their bed. How could she explain the endless round of nightmares- Thomas hurting someone, or even worse, being hurt himself? "I worry about you..." Her throat choked with tears, so she stopped there. Things were off at the Corporation, she could _feel_ it. Thomas was traveling so much more- there were more "urgent" phone calls and he'd disappear with some flimsy explanation. Ironically, the thought that her dark and sometimes terrifying lover was cheating on her never entered her mind...

 

 ____________________________________

 

"He's gone _again?"_ Karla snorted irritably, shaking more sugar into her tea. Isobel was relaxing into a much-needed gossip date with one of her oldest friends. Unfortunately, it wasn't all that relaxing, after all. "How many trips this month?"

Isobel shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Only...eight."

"Eight." Karla's voice could not be more sarcastic, and Isobel refused to look up from her cup, idly swirling a fork through her white chocolate cheesecake. "Eight? And do you even know where he is?"

Irritably rubbing her forehead, Isobel's voice sharpened. "Stop, Karla! Yes, I know where Thomas is. He calls me four or five times a day to check in on me." She smiled a little shyly, thinking about their Skype session the night before, where he forced her to come on her fingers as he stroked himself and purred filthy words of encouragement. 

But her friend was undeterred. "Look, Is. I've been there from the beginning, at Benendon, remember? When he used to pick you up from school? How he found you in Madrid on our holiday? I could tell something changed then. And then you're living with him and... What the _hell_ is going on, sweetheart?" 

Isobel was finally poked enough to strike back. "We love each other- what the hell else? Where is this coming from?"

Karla shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be a bitch. But all of a sudden he's never here and gone again without an explanation- what's the last business trip where he took you with him?"

Isobel closed her eyes, squeezing the pressure points on the back of her neck. She could feel one of those anxiety migraines coming on, the ones she always- her hand slowed, realizing she’d not had a single migraine since living with Thomas. As wild and erratic as her life could be with him, it had never sparked one of the debilitating episodes that felt like her brain was tearing loose from her skull. Not one. Smiling, she opened her eyes and stared her best friend down.

“I don’t know, Karla. I don’t know what’s happening, other than my Thomas is stressed and he never shows...any...well, any of that. But he still comes home and takes care of me as if my Japanese final is even as remotely important as whatever is going on with him. And I’m worried for him, but I love him. And I know he comes home to me. _Me.”_

“Um… Okay.” Karla was staring at her, wide-eyed. Isobel never snapped back at her friends! But here she was, defending that hot, scary-ass supermodel psychopath. Smiling reassuringly, she moved on to discussing the end of the school year, watching the relieved smile on Isobel’s face.

 

The Previous February:

It had taken Isobel two years and ruthless interrogation to discover the exact date of Thomas's birth. She'd narrowed down the month and stubbornly celebrated for all 28 days, because the handsome, unreasonable bastard refused to tell her what day it was. But this year- this year she was _prepared_. February 9th- Thomas had finally confessed during a rather rigorous orgasm while Isobel was vigorously sucking his cock, with all the lovely choking sounds he so enjoyed. As brutal as his "business trip" had been the previous weekend- overseeing the ritual murder of a group of short-sighted Yakuza- he felt himself relax as his sweet doll woke him up with another of those delicious, eager blowjobs that she performed so nicely. Smiling as her often-terrifying lover gently stroked her hair, growling as she sucked him clean, Isobel slithered up his chest to kiss his chin, then his cheek. "Happy Birthday, my dear Thomas."

"Mmmmm..." he groaned luxuriously, "I don't think you can top this moment, darling."

"I certainly hope so," Isobel smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth, the taut cord in his neck and one strong shoulder. "I have such plans for you today..." The girl's brow furrowed as she watched a shadow sweep over his expression, turning his warm azure eyes blank. "If- um, if that's okay?" She hated the question on the end of her sentence- surely she was allowed to celebrate the birthday of the man she loved! Didn't people...do that?

Thomas gathered himself with an effort and smiled at her eager little face. "I am touched, darling. I shall happily submit to anything you do to me."

"Ah," Isobel purred happily, "it is not what I want to do to _you_ , it's what you want to do to _me_...you have a free pass, Daddy. Anything you like..." she was so busy kissing down the side of his neck that it took her a moment to realize he'd gone perfectly still.

"Anything, darling?"

Whimpering low in her throat, the girl realized she'd just made a deal with the devil.

It was called "Consensual Non-consent," and Isobel leaped onto Google the moment Thomas's broad back was turned after a long and deliriously pleasurable birthday fuck. 

"I don't want it _now,"_ he'd chuckled, seeing her huge, terrified green eyes. "This is a big step and I'd want us to discuss it first. But...yes. I want ruthless access to your delicious body. When you are least..." Thomas began kissing down her neck in that horrid, knowing way that he _knew_ she loved- "expecting it.” His dick started hardening, hearing the little whimper his doll tried to strangle in her throat. 

After Thomas had spoken with her and explained how this confusing “consent to non-consensual” activity would go, Isobel couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Will you, um, hurt me?” She hated the anxious little tone she couldn’t seem to stop as she asked him

Thomas was lounging on their suede sofa, coat off and his dress shirt cuffs rolled up his strong forearms. He looked up from his laptop, eyes glowing cerulean in the monitor light. “I promise to do nothing that marks you permanently. I expect you to fight back as if you were truly protecting your virtue.” His smile was unholy. “But yes, I will hurt you.”

Isobel’s breath caught in her throat.

Shutting his laptop with a snap, he leaned forward, elbows balanced on his long thighs. “Have I always given you more pleasure in exchange for the pain I take from you?”

Trying to moisten her dry lips, the girl managed, “Yes, Daddy.”

His stare trapped her, Isobel unable to look away from his stern, beautiful face. “Are you not happy when you please me?”

This, she knew. Nodding and smiling, Isobel agreed, “Yes, Daddy.”

Thomas leaned back, putting both long arms over the back of the sofa, eyes still on hers. “It will give me great pleasure to capture you, subdue you...finally pin you down, helpless against me while I fuck you. Roughly. Brutally. And you will be helpless to stop me.”

Horrified equally by his words and the fact that she could feel her pussy turn instantly juicy, Isobel could only nod.

 

 

May:

Tuesday:

But as she waited for this sudden attack, life went on, as it does, which is how Isobel found herself taking a shower as Thomas left the flat to grab some curried chicken for them at their favorite place. Frantically drying her hair and adding a bit of lip stain, she forced herself to ignore her finals. Thomas was home. Because as tired as she was, the girl was longing for the beautiful man who insisted she call him Daddy. She could smell the curry as he opened the huge, sliding door to the flat. 

"Darling? Are you still in the tub? Come out and let me feed you." She could hear Thomas rustling around, gathering plates and the clink of silverware. "Isobel?"

Thomas stopped speaking abruptly as he entered their bedroom. Pausing to enjoy the sight of his pretty doll, all stretched out in an utterly wanton fashion, he smiled, leaning against the door frame to fold his arms across his broad chest. "Why, my sweet doll. Why did I waste time venturing out for food when this beautiful creature was laid out for me to taste?"

Isobel smiled with all the inner vixen she could muster. "Come and get it, Tommy." She shivered as she watched his eyes turn dark and his head drop, scenting her like a wolf. There was something undeniably erotic about calling her well-bred Thomas by his "street name" as a poor teenager with fierce and furious dreams. It never failed to make him hard for her, and she never failed to enjoy it. Watching him tear off his ridiculously expensive suit in a distracted way Isobel shivered again.

"Ohhhh...god...Daddy..." Thomas thrust into her without any preliminaries, and the girl was shocked to find that she didn't need them. She'd been wet from the moment she draped herself across their huge bed, hoping he'd ravish her. 

Later, both of them still panting and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Thomas pulled her on top of his heaving chest, stroking Isobel's tumbled hair away from her face. "When do you leave to go on tour, darling?"

Wiggling a bit to get comfortable on his hard chest, she yawned. "This Sunday, after we perform here Friday and Saturday."

"Hmmmm..." He was silent for a moment, his long fingers still carding through her hair. "I am sorry Isobel. I won't be able to see you dance this time."

Her head shot up, looking at his eyes, still staring up at the ceiling. "Oh..." the girl managed, "okay. Do you have another trip?" Isobel was trying to sound casual, but it was heartbreaking. Thomas had never missed one of her performances- not ever. And this was her biggest role ever- and "Carmina Burana!" She kissed his tight jaw. "It's all right, Daddy. You've been working so hard."

His beautiful eyes were troubled when he finally looked at her. "I would rather be there, you know that."

Isobel forced a smile, stroking her fingers down his stubbled cheek. "I know, Daddy. And I'll miss you." Pressing kisses down his neck, she whispered, "Do you remember when you took me to the Royal Ballet that first time?" She closed her eyes in pleasure as she felt his broad chest rumble as he laughed.

"Ah, yes. "Carmina Burana." You looked like an angel in that green dress."

"As I remember," she teased, still placing kisses against his skin, tasting of salt. "You fingered me. Into an orgasm. In front of everyone."

Thomas growled and rolled her under him, enjoying her startled shriek. "And then took you to my office and fucked you against the window. Like the delicious, wanton little thing I knew you were."

 

Wednesday:

"Is, look who's here- your hot-ass boyfriend."

Isobel looked up as her dance partner Miguel nodded at the far end of the practice room. In the multiple reflecting mirrors, she could see Thomas leaning against the doorway, his arms folded in his impeccable navy blue suit. She smiled, happy with his surprise visit, but Thomas didn't look equally as pleased. Feeling Miguel's hand stroking up and down her arm, she stepped away.

"Don't be getting all smarmy, you whore. You can't get Thomas excited about your lovely physique by flirting with me. He's relentlessly heterosexual."

Miguel sighed, stretching elaborately to show off his spectacular musculature. "If you say so, honey. Let me know when you're willing to share."

Rolling her eyes, Isobel hurried over to greet him, a wide and genuine smile spreading across her face. He was so handsome, her Thomas. She knew all the girls- and most of the men- were staring at him as he slipped his hands under her elbows and yanked her on pointe to bring her closer to his mouth. His kiss was harder than usual, one hand firmly gripping her tightly wound bun. "Hello," Isobel sighed, "what a lovely surprise."

"Hmmm." To her dismay, he did not sound as pleased. "I do hope I wasn't interrupting anything...crucial to your performance."

Isobel shrugged, a little confused. "No, we were just running through a few rough spots before the dress rehearsal tomorrow." Looking back at an openly leering Miguel, she giggled, "I think my partner would like to meet you." His eyes were polar blue, she noticed with a sinking heart, long lashed lids lifting to look at the eager dancer before turning back to her.

"No," he said finally, "I must be going. I only stopped by to let you know I'm leaving early- I must be in Tokyo tomorrow morning."

Her face fell, but Isobel struggled to plaster on a smile. "So soon? I thought you weren't due in-"

"Plans change," Thomas interrupted her, still staring at a suddenly uncomfortable Miguel. "But I should be home just after you get back from your tour." Kissing her- hard- again, he lectured, "Be certain to sleep and eat, as you promised me. It won't do to be ill during the most important role of your career, would it?"

Her smile was more uncertain this time, Isobel's full lips stinging from his kiss. Leaning closer so no one could hear, she whispered, "Yes Daddy, I promise." A real smile tugged reluctantly at his perfect lips as Thomas leaned to kiss her again. 

"Be a good girl for Daddy, then. Morris is waiting outside to take you home." Isobel sighed as she watched his broad shoulders move through the door as he left the room. This was going to be a lonely weekend.

 

Thursday:

Isobel was throwing clothes into her leather bag, trying to remember everything she’d need for the tour when she heard the front door to the flat open and close. Brows creased in a frown, she walked to the bedroom door, still holding her extra ballet shoes in her hand. It couldn’t be Morris, he never entered without permission. She heaved a sigh of relief when she found the tall figure of Thomas standing by the door. “Hi, Daddy! What a nice surprise! Your meetings ended early? I could make dinner, if you’re…” Isobel’s warm welcome died off as she realized he wasn’t paying attention to her greeting.

His posture was stiff, he’d pulled off his tie and was idly winding both ends in either fist, creating a sharp, straight line of silk held taut between them.

“Dad- Daddy?” Isobel breathed, realizing she was clutching her toe shoes to her chest. “Are you all right?”

The tall, terrifying man before her didn’t speak, his eyes a blank silver blue. She stifled a sob as she watched his big fists suddenly bulge as he clenched down on the tie. As he took one, deliberate step towards her, Isobel took one step back. The bizarre tango continued until she realized he was herding her to their huge bed. Using the strength in her muscled thighs, Isobel leaped over the bed and ran for the door, neatly circumventing his attempt to corner her. She allowed herself one moment of relief until she felt the searing pain of her head being yanked back, Thomas's hand gripping her hair tightly. He shoved her roughly against the wall between their pristine white bathroom and the door leading to the main part of the flat- and freedom. One hand wrapped around her throat as the other kept hold of her hair. "You will not move again without my permission, or I'll strap you with my belt until you bleed, little girl."

Oh, _god_ , Isobel realized with a sick thrill of terror, this was the consensual nonconsent- Thomas’s terrifying birthday present. Suddenly remembering that he’d told her he anticipated that she’d fight back, _expected_ it- she unleashed a savage jab with the point of her elbow into his throat. While her tutelage from Simja was excellent, her aim was off- the blasted man was too tall and her blow ended somewhere in the center of his chest- which was still enough to make Thomas choke for a moment, his grip on her to loosen. Tearing free, she winced at the strands of hair she left in his fist and made for the door at top speed. Hearing him growl, Isobel knew he was after her already.

“That was a mistake, babygirl.” His deep voice was ragged, more of a snarl, “but I suspect you already know that. And that I will make you pay for your insolence.” His long legs carried him within a hand’s grasp of her before Isobel ducked and swept her leg, knocking him off balance and on to their hardwood floor with a satisfying “oof!”

"Thomas!" Isobel's voice wavered, but she continued to back away. "You're scaring me!" The mix of terror and a sick sort of anticipation inside her made her wonder how well she was playing her role- or if she was playing one at all. "Please- please stop, okay?"

The chuckle she received back was not at all comforting. "I will stop, baby girl. When I've fucked you hard enough that you can't walk without crying. Until you remember who owns you, little bitch." Thomas's long arm shot out like lightning and knocked her into the granite counter in their kitchen, catching her painfully at the hips and making her upper body slap face down against the stone. The collision with her hipbones was searing, but as Thomas kicked her feet apart, Isobel's head snapped back and connected painfully with the bridge of his nose. Smiling spitefully at his angry grunt, she headed for the front door, not quite thinking her plan through. So, she screamed when she felt his hand grasp at the back of her t-shirt and nearly tear it off her. "There is my good girl," Thomas said in a parody of tenderness, "employing those martial arts skills. Good to know that after four years, you've managed to retain some instruction."

Hissing in fury, Isobel used his backward momentum against him and knocked Thomas to the floor on his ass. Impossibly fast, he was back up, with a huge, savage grin stretched across his face. “Well done, darling, well done! But you’ve just earned yourself another punishment, one I’ll especially enjoy delivering.” He blocked her way to the door again by simply stepping over the sofa she was keeping between them with his ridiculously long legs.

Genuinely terrified now, Isobel hissed like a cat and began throwing a volley of punches and kicks, most of which were easily blocked by the man intent on fucking her. Thomas finally lost patience after she landed an elbow hard enough to nearly crack his ribs and spun her, pulling one arm painfully up her back, and then the other, crossing her wrists and rapidly looping his belt to keep them pinned. Gripping her around the waist, he carried a struggling Isobel back to the counter, grunting when one of her kicking legs collided with his shin. She shrieked when his hand landed harshly against her ass, covered by a thin cotton skirt. She yelped as she felt his hand fist into the waistband of her flimsy protection and rip her skirt and underwear off.

"Thomas! Stop, damnit!" This earned her a round of vicious slaps, alternating to the right and left of her bottom until she felt like her attacker had set her skin ablaze.

His hand went back to her tumbled curls, placing her face firmly against the cool granite. "Your cheek will not leave the counter, or the next round of spanking will be right on your clit." He chuckled, leaning in closer so Isobel could feel his hot breath against her ear. "No is not a word you say to me, little girl."

Isobel was shaking as he harshly pulled her knees onto the counter, displaying her most intimate parts in an utterly humiliating way. He was right- 'no' was not her safe word. She had one, but- "Oh! Ow, Daddy! Please-"

Thomas had thrust two fingers into her, carelessly, brutally while his other hand pushed down on the small of her back, arching her even more and practically pushing her pussy into his face. "You haven't earned the right to speak. Now shut up, my lovely slut. Take what's coming to you like a good girl."

Her head was shaking mindlessly back and forth, even though she somehow obeyed him and kept her cheek to the granite as his stiff fingers harshly sawed in and out of her. Isobel gritted her teeth, embarrassed by his deep chuckle to find his fingers were already slick and shiny as they pulled from her. Spitting crudely on the anxious little pucker of her bottom, Thomas began pushing his slick digits inside. Isobel's head shot up and she howled, "No! No Thomas don't-"

The next thing she felt was an explosion of pain across her thighs as another of his belts made it's appearance across them. Isobel screamed, she cried and tried to wiggle away from the searing stripes across her already sore ass and legs, and then Thomas pulled her upwards by her bound arms and snarled "Keep your pretty head up, little girl." She found out why when the belt came across her breasts twice. Screaming louder than she'd ever done in her life, Isobel couldn't move away from the cruel lash as Thomas pinned her for two more rounds before pushing her sobbing face back down and leaving the belt next to her, where she'd be forced to stare at it. She moaned as his long fingers squeezed her sore breasts and toyed with her nipples.

"Very soon, little girl, I intend to keep these full of milk, and you full of my babies."

Isobel's breath caught in her throat. Thomas making her pregnant? They'd never discussed it, not once. And for him to bring it up here? Now?

"You can't stop me, little girl. I _own_ you." Thomas chuckled again as she felt something cool press against her ass. "The way your cunt is leaking, I suspect we could simply use your slick for your ass, but the thought of putting a child in you and watching you swell- well, not in this hole, at any rate-" Isobel moaned as his two fingers slowly invaded her back passage again. "Has made me feel very tender about you." It was a cruel joke, she thought as his fingers pushed higher, burning and making her body clench instinctively to push them out. "Ah, none of that," Thomas scolded as he leaned in to her, pushing his way through with more force, his muscled forearms bulging ominously. "This is what you need, little girl. Everything in you belongs to me. I own this charming ass, and I intend to fuck it. And you will stay where you are or feel the bite of my belt again." His tongue came sliding up one sore thigh, circling her ass and sliding down to her sore and throbbing clit. His lips pressed her little bundle of flesh between them and pulled, forcing another wail out of her. 

“This doesn’t even feel like rape, darling.” Thomas was mocking her as Isobel let out a whimper as his mouth left her. “Such an eager whore.” Holding her by the hip, he slowly pushed in a third finger, ignoring her tears. Isobel could feel the long, sharp digits inside her, stretching and rotating inside her, making her shudder with humiliation and want. Abruptly, Thomas pulled his hand from her and flipped her over, pinning Isobel’s arms painfully under her back. Taking another mortifyingly close look at her ass, he smiled darkly and looped her legs over his elbows, spreading her wide and pushing her legs back to meet her shoulders, placing her shamefully on display again. “I’m going to fuck your ass,” he purred, that low, beautiful voice at odds with the terrifying things he was saying. “I certainly hoped you’re stretched enough, but that’s not really my problem, is it?”

Isobel couldn’t look away, her eyes wide as saucers as she stared at him. Thomas was suddenly a stranger, leaning over her with most of his features shadowed. He placed the fat tip of his cock against her sore bottom, just barely pushing to keep her sphincter open, waiting. He said nothing, but she suddenly realized he was giving her one last chance to say her safe word, to shriek “Red!” so that everything would stop and she… But Isobel didn’t, and those azure eyes lit up with an unholy pleasure as Thomas began pushing into her pucker, slowly but never stopping. The muscles in his ass flexed as he used his strength to push more of that thick spike into a place Isobel never would have imagined it could fit.

“Stop fighting me!” Thomas slapped her ass, making Isobel jump and distracting her enough for him to push in another inch. “You’re taking my cock up your ass, so I would suggest being a good girl, so I don’t hurt you as much." He slapped her other cheek, managing to stuff in yet another inch of that throbbing muscle as the girl stared up at him, huge green eyes terrified and fascinated at the same time. "When my cock splits you wide open, willingly or not, you will come for me. Even though you don't want to. Even though it's hurting you." To Isobel's dismay, his hand was back to her sensitive clit again, but Thomas didn't rub it the way he usually did. This time, he licked two fingers and began slapping at it, making her back arch and a shriek rip from her throat. "I'm not going to be gentle, slut. I don't have to be. You're going to come for me anyway, clutch my cock up your ass and squeeze my come out of me, aren't you?" The painful attention to her most sensitive bits distracted the girl enough to finally slide the rest of himself inside, Isobel moaning as she felt his heated balls rub against her abraded flesh. His hips began moving, slowly pulling to where her sphincter would hold in his puffy tip, then in again, long, smooth strokes that burned and tore and still Isobel could feel her nipples peak, moaning as he fastened his mouth against one.

But then his other hand came up to her line of sight, and Isobel froze in terror. Thomas was holding his switchblade, smiling down at her, enjoying the reflection of the light off the silver edge. 

"I could fuck you for hours. Then I could kill you. Cut your throat and no one would say a thing. They'd all look the other way, wouldn't they?"

He grunted as he pushed into her harder, idly running the razor sharp blade up and down her arched throat. Isobel was shaking, she knew the knife was wickedly sharp. She'd see it sail effortlessly right through that thug's hand. Looking desperately into Thomas's eyes, she found them that pale, blank color again. Was this what he looked like when he killed people? Did he- Oh, god, Isobel thought in a sick sense of certainty. Thomas killed people. Of course he did. She was in love with a murderer who would take life without a thought. And hers could be one of them. And yet, her lips still couldn't shape the word "Red." The pointed tip was tracing her hard nipples now, as Thomas began moving faster inside her.

"What does your blood taste like, I wonder?" Isobel whimpered as he made a tiny mark, just underneath her left breast and bent to taste it. She looked down in disbelief, seeing his dark hair against her pale skin. "Delicious," he praised. "The adrenaline makes your blood even sweeter." The hand that had prodded inside her ass held his knife as his other hand slid down her mound to slide three fingers inside her cunt. She moaned again, her back arching. She was so full- Thomas was everywhere inside her and outside her and everything felt stuffed beyond her capacity to hold, but she did. He moved faster, pushing that thick column of flesh up her ass as his fingers moved expertly inside her, pressing against his cock with that thin barrier to hold them apart and moaned. She could feel how wet she was- shamefully, blatantly wet, and his dark whispers in her ear grew more terrifying until his knife slid up just underneath her chin again. 

"It's time to come, baby. I know you don't want to, dirty girl. Because only dirty girls come when they're being raped, but you will. Come and milk my cock with that tight, tender ass of yours and I'll fuck your pussy with my fingers. And if you don't..." Here, he leaned forward until his beautiful, cruel face filled her sight. "I could possibly drive my knife right through your throat. I could, darling. So, now. On the count of three..."

Hands clenched into fists behind her, legs pinned open by his arms, Isobel had never felt so helpless. This was a terrifying stranger who wouldn't relent at her tears, wouldn't stop if she begged him. And so the girl did the only, logical thing. 

It was if the parts of Thomas driving inside her both hit some keg of dynamite at the same time, and everything below Isobel's belly button suddenly exploded. Her feet pointed and arched violently, long legs shaking in his grip as the fire flew down her body, just underneath her skin and setting muscles and nerves into an inferno as it passed. Isobel couldn't take her gaze away from his pale stare, even though they both shook and growled and howled like beasts together.

 

Thomas's aftercare that night was exquisite, even more so than his usual attentive nurturing. He gently bathed a limp Isobel, caring for her sore body with aloe gel and a numbing cream on her bottom, drawing another sharp gasp as one thick finger slid up her ass to soothe it with the ointment. He brought her tea in her favorite mug and even held it to her lips, helping Isobel finish it before settling her in bed, stroking her, kissing her neck as he curled behind her and praising his brave girl, his beautiful, good girl.

And Isobel lay still, looking out at the lights of the city and wondering why she came so hard on the cock of a killer.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did quite a bit of research on Consensual Non-consent, and I'm hoping my kink expert readers will not be utterly disgusted by my effort, I tried to keep it to what I thought Thomas- and Isobel- were capable of.
> 
> It's rough, but I feel Thomas has been holding WAY back from the kind of darkness he'd like to show her, just to see if Isobel would run screaming. The role play was his chance to get what he needed- especially since life at the Corporation is utter shit and he needed the release. Desperately. And my Thomas, no matter how evil he is would never cheat on Isobel. It would even occur to him.


	27. Making Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas is capable of tenderness. And possibly love.

 

Isobel was somehow not surprised to find Thomas gone when she woke the next morning. Part of her was grateful for it- the feelings she had after that terrifying and arousing night were wildly confusing. But, her daddy did leave her a note on her bedside table with a bottle of water and two pain pills.

"Darling,

I fear my enthusiasm for your beautiful, delicious body made me rougher than I should have been- particularly since you are set to perform tonight. Take these, and find a bottle of Arnica gel on the side of your beloved tub. The gel should fade any bruises that might be too noticeable.

Though I cannot be there tonight, I'll be picturing you dance, your lovely body stretching to perfect form. You will be magnificent. Be safe, Morris will be there should you need him for anything.

T."

Isobel's mouth twisted into a wry smile. Of course Morris would be there. Her grey-suited, omnipresent shadow. Through concentrated attempts over the last four years, she'd gotten her bodyguard- let's be honest here, she reminded herself, Morris was a bodyguard, plain and simple- to divulge a few small details about himself. He'd been in Her Majesty's Service, though he would not say what branch. He had been in the police force for a short time before deciding it didn't suit. Morris had a wife and a daughter when he left for the Iraqi conflict, but the wife was gone when he returned home, and he'd not seen his daughter in some time. This was the most intimate, painful detail Morris had ever shared with her, and Isobel had remained carefully silent, waiting to speak only when she was sure her voice wouldn't waver with tears. She knew tears would have offended the man. So, after four years, Isobel felt that they had at least a small friendship, a bit of a relationship that extended past his duties to Thomas. So, when his polite knock sounded at the front door of the flat at precisely the correct time, Isobel was dressed and ready, her overnight bag sitting beside her like a faithful dog.

 

They drove in silence for a while, heading for the next stop in the ballet company's tour.

"Your last performance, Miss Isobel."

Shaken out of her lurid memories of the night before, Isobel's eyes met his polite gaze in the rear-view mirror. "It is. I feel...it's bittersweet I guess."

Morris gave her a non-committal curve of his lip that could be construed as a smile. "Will your brother be in the audience tonight?"

Isobel twisted a strand of hair around one finger, an irritating habit that she was trying to stop. "No, he's on a school trip, and Thomas has meetings. I'm on my own this time." She attempted a smile, realizing how pathetic she sounded.

"This particular theater has excellent security," her bodyguard noted, putting on his turn signal.

"Oh?" Isobel asked, a little confused.

"Indeed." Intoned Morris. "Competent enough that I would not feel remiss in my duties if I were to watch from the audience, rather than backstage."

Her jaw dropped. This small kindness from the calm, gray man was as shocking as if he'd stripped off his ash-colored suit and run screaming through the local supermarket juggling casaba melons. "I would be so happy to see you there," Isobel finally said, "if you don't mind sitting with the other families."

For a horrible moment, Isobel cringed, realizing what she'd said. 'The other families?' She cursed herself, 'presumptuous much, Is?'

Morris guided the car onto the next leg of the route and nodded. "Not at all."

 

Carefully adjusting her costume to cover any visible bruises, Isobel smiled to herself. Thomas was right, of course, the Arnica gel had faded any marks that might show from their violent and arousing night together. Miguel walked by, deliberately bumping her.

"Move your arse, Fortuna!" Looking up in alarm, she realized that the opening strains of "Oh Fortuna" were rising from the orchestra pit, and Isobel moved like lightning.

How she wished Thomas could have been here! Writhing in the passionate "Amor volat undique" movement, Isobel pictured his face over hers the night before, sweating- her cool, collected daddy!- teeth gritted and eyes narrowed in concentration as he wrung every last shudder of arousal from her. His beautiful long legs trapping hers, his sculpted arms bulging with muscle- the girl swallowed down a moan. Finally garbed in a powerful black costume, Isobel haughtily entered on to the stage for her final set in "Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi." As she gazed down her nose at the audience, Isobel nearly tripped. There was her Thomas. Fourth row center- he hated the first row- clad in a black suit and wearing the blue tie she'd given him for Christmas.

After barely managing to change, pose for a few pictures and thank Morris for his kindness, Isobel found herself on her back in her daddy's Jaguar, rubbing herself against the bulge marring his perfectly tailored trousers. "I need you, Daddy!" Isobel gasped out, "How did you-"

"My meetings concluded much more abruptly than the others had planned," Thomas chuckled ominously, neglecting to mention that his last meeting was cut short when the Corporation simply executed their Venezuelan business partners after discovering their betrayal. "God, little girl! I'm going to fuck you right here in the parking lot if we don't get to your hotel immediately." 

 

By sheer iron will- especially because Isobel continued to try to climb into his lap as he drove- Thomas got them to the hotel without crashing his Jaguar. Shoving her face-first against the mirrored wall of the lift, he bit the back of her neck. “Such a bad girl, trying to tempt your daddy while he’s driving.” He felt her push her ass back against his still-hard cock and groaned, slapping the offending bottom warningly. “Unless you desire a spanking instead of an orgasm, I suggest you behave, darling.”

But when they were finally safely inside the suite, door shut and locked, Thomas paused for a moment, looking down at Isobel’s lovely face, those huge, guileless eyes of her staring trustingly back. Trustingly. After he’d strapped and fucked her within an inch of her life, and still his girl stared back as if he was her sun and stars. Carefully placing one big hand on either side of her face, Thomas cradled Isobel’s cheeks, leaning down to gently swipe his lips over hers, feeling them open in a little sigh. Undressing her with exquisite care, he placed Isobel on the bed, placing kisses on each ankle, her knees, smoothly spreading her thighs to continue the kisses higher.

“Oh… Daddy…” Her hands slipped into Thomas’s dark hair, scratching along his sensitive scalp as her hips hopefully rose as his tongue played along her swelling lips. Sliding one, then another long finger inside her, he grinned against her clitoris, letting Isobel feel his teeth.

“Patience, little girl. Be still.”

What was he doing? Isobel’s head swam as she tried to make sense of this dark and beautiful lover above her. Even during her first time, Thomas had never moved so slowly, as if he was cherishing her and every inch of her heated skin. So many slow strokes and kisses. “Daddy…”

“Shhh… love. Good girls get to come, don’t they?” That Voice! The beautiful weapon Thomas used to his advantage with her so many times. His deep, resonant tone in her ear, whispering _such_ things…

“My angel, your breath hitching when I do this- or this-” Thomas paused to enjoy Isobel’s rapturous shudders. “Your pink kitty is spread before me, glistening and so very pretty, darling. And this tender little clit-” his long fingers paused in tweaking the sensitive nub as her hips nearly came off the bed. Sucking it between his lips, Thomas delicately worried it with the tip of his agile tongue. “When you’re nearly senseless, darling, you grip my hair shamelessly, trying to bring my mouth to where you want it. Such a spoiled little thing, aren’t you?”

Even if she could think of what to say, Isobel wasn’t capable of forcing her mouth to form a coherent response. Thomas was leisurely nibbling along her plump outer lips, pausing to sink his tongue as deep inside her as he could go, then withdrawing to suck against her clit again. Then he was rising over her again, a smile on his beautiful face and chin still shamelessly glistening with the girl’s slick.

“Daddy, please…” Isobel moaned, looking up with desperation.

Thomas smiled down at her with a look of such tenderness that she actually paused in her begging. Isobel had never seen that expression on his face before, even in their most intimate moments.

“Can you feel my fingers slide along those sleek, wet walls of yours? You tighten against me- like so- when I brush my thumb along your hard little pearl. So beautiful, my sweet girl. Open to me, begging for relief. Would you like to come, Isobel?”

So aroused that she wasn’t sure if it was a trick question, Isobel gratefully nodded as hard as she could.

“Such a good girl…” She could hear the tinge of amusement creep into his warm voice, but it still spread over her, drenching her skin with goosebumps and tingling nerve endings. Where Thomas was stroking her was almost too sensitive. “The skin on the inside of your thighs,” he mused, “it’s so thin and tender…” His teeth and then tongue slid along the soft patch, and Isobel moaned helplessly as she clenched against his fingers inside her. “Does that feel good, baby? What if I did this just...a...bit...harder?" Isobel erupted into a scream as his fingers moved purposefully, pressing against all those tender spots inside her that his hand had evaded for the last half hour. Her scream died off into a moan as Thomas placed the flat of his tongue fully against her throbbing clitoris, pressing down almost too firmly, his beautiful azure gaze watching Isobel come apart for him again. Lifting her limp body so her back rested against his chest, Thomas spread one long leg, then the other to rest over his, pulling her wide apart and open to him. "Look up, baby." His chin gently nudged her face into Isobel realized they were facing a full-length mirror. "So pretty- look at you. Like a flower opened to me." His hands on her hips rose Isobel to hover above Thomas's cock, hugely swollen. "Watch now. I want you to see me split you wide." His hand moved down to spread Isobel's pussy open, making her see his glistening shaft slide smoothly up inside her, taking such a long time to move all the way through her. "Put your hands behind my neck." Eyes still fixed on the impossibility of his spearing inside her, Isobel mindlessly did as she was told. "Look how snugly we fit together." His lips were right next to her ear now, Thomas's warm breath caressing her cheek. "We fit perfectly. You are mine, darling-" His cock surged up harder, making her spine snap into an arch, then release as he stroked her nipples to match his pace inside her. "-And I am yours." His voice suddenly deepened on the last sentence, said more quietly as Isobel gasped, both in the throes of her third orgasm and the utter sincerity of his admission. "Yes, baby, just like that. Come for Daddy again, now. Be a good girl..."

They made love twice more that night, and there was no other word for it, thought Isobel. Thomas kissed and caressed her, stroking her skin lovingly and telling her in whispers how beautiful she was, how precious to him. When they finally came together the third time, he on top and settling smoothly inside her, Thomas groaned. "Oh, god, Isobel- My sweet love..." Isobel instinctively tightened her arms and legs around him as his long body collapsed on to hers, curling around him as he enveloped her.

 

Thomas was gone again before it was time for her to leave for the next location, but he held her face in his hands, lovingly, as he'd done just hours before. "Beautiful, lovely Isobel." He kissed her again, smiling down at her closed eyes, placing a gentle touch on both eyelids, the tip of her nose and then Isobel's mouth again. "I don't want to leave," he sighed, kissing her again. As if to disagree with him, Thomas's phone went off, buzzing irritably until he answered. Watching the cold, blank expression sweep over his face again, Isobel found herself longing for him to look at her again in the way he had when making love to her. After a few curt sentences, the man ended the call and looked down at his doll's anxious face.

Impulsively wrapping herself around him, Isobel urged, "Stay. Stay, Thomas. Don't go this time. Stay with me." Unaccountably, tears started welling from her eyes, even as her brow furrowed in confusion. She was suddenly terrified. "Just this once? Please?" Her long legs and arms gripped his body with surprising strength, and Thomas looked down, concerned.

"I have to go, sweetheart. You know that."

Isobel was fighting down the panic that seemed to come from nowhere. "It's just- I don't know."

"We'll be home together again on Monday, love." Thomas didn't miss the tentative smile on Isobel's expressive face, and he smiled back tenderly. "I won't be traveling as much now. Not unless you're with me." Folding his tall body over hers, they stood for a long time, gently rocking back and forth before Thomas pulled away with a sigh.

"Monday," Isobel forced a smile, nodding at him.

Kissing her hand, he turned to the door. "Monday, love."

 

Even without him, the next two days were some of the happiest of Isobel's young life. He'd said "love," she thought. Many times, he said it. They spoke at least twice a day, Thomas's tone always patient and kind, even when she could feel the tension coiling behind it. She laughed, drank and ate with her fellow dancers, enjoying the carefree moments, not used to being so relaxed. It was all perfect, really. Until after the Sunday matinee performance and the brief moments of quiet before preparing for the evening's final appearance.

"Isobel Cameron." It wasn't a question, more of a flat statement from the two men before her, blocking the girl's way to her dressing room.

Stepping back, she eyed them warily. "Yes?"

"We're from MI5. We need to speak with you." Herding her backwards, the agents pushed Isobel into an empty room and shut the door.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Life has been insultingly intrusive recently, completely ignoring MY needs. The story becomes quite intense from here on out, so I will do everything possible to update frequently. Even when things get scary, remember! Do I not ALWAYS have happy endings?


	28. "Mummy Is So Sorry."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the scales fall from Isobel's eyes. And Thomas has a role to play. No matter who it damages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, big fat trigger warnings for non-con, beatings...this is the really sad retaliation chapter. Sorry. Has to be done. But I don't want you reading it if this will hurt you. You can catch up later.

Bend. Sway. Arch. Don't think about it. Just keep dancing.

 "You're not stupid, Miss Cameron. You can't believe your boyfriend is a pillar of society. You're living with a murderous thug." Agent #1 as Isobel called him, sneered at her in his supercilious, "I'm working for Queen and Country and you're a pathetic little whore," sort of expression. 

"A very wealthy, murderous thug," chimed in Agent #2 mockingly, "but perhaps that's why you don't mind what Williams does for a living."

Isobel's eyes narrowed furiously. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me! Nor, about Thomas. I don't know where you get your information, but you're wrong. Now, I have to get ready for our next performance. So if you don't have any more insults or accusations, I need to get back to my dressing room." 

Isobel was a little proud of herself, even though she was so terrified that she wasn’t sure her legs would support her if she tried to rise and stalk out of the room, even if the men would let her. She’d demanded to see their ID, doubting even then if the credentials were real. It’s not like the girl had ever run across anyone from Britain's most powerful law enforcement group before.

But the pictures.

Keep dancing. Move to the center. Leap. Twirl. Leap again. Don’t think about the pictures.

“Did you know what Williams was doing yesterday before showing up to your performance like a _devoted boyfriend_?” Agent #1 drew the words out in a sneer. He pulled a sheaf of photos from a manila envelope and laid them out in front of her, the grisly tableau from start to finish. He helpfully narrated as his finger stabbed at each one. “This poor bastard was the vice president of a Venezuelan mining company. The company also launders money for Jaguar Holdings. Apparently, he wasn’t doing his job, because as you can see in the next picture-” His voice faded in and out, like a faulty speaker as Isobel stared at the clear image of Thomas, grinning as he cut the man’s throat from ear to ear. “Then, this man, another company head…” The pictures were unfortunately quite crisp, and Isobel knew the gunman shooting the hapless Venezuelan in the head was Tom- Number Three.

She blinked as the agent’s voice suddenly came back into proper volume. “-you have to do this.”

“Do what?” The girl asked stupidly, still concentrating on not vomiting her lunch across the photographs.

They both looked at her with a mixture of exasperation and contempt. “You have to get access to Williams’ computer files. You’re looking for anything related to the Judas Project.”

Isobel stiffened, looking at their expressions. She’d seen the same look so many times on the faces of her parents. “Actually, no. No, I don’t. I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do because I still don’t know who the bloody hell you are! Thomas is- is not who you say. Those photos are doctored. And unless you intend to arrest me, then get out of my way. I have a performance in…” she shakily checked her phone, noting with a pang that there was a text from Thomas, “in less than an hour.” She stood up, waiting for someone to pull a gun or handcuff her, but they allowed her to walk to the door.

“Miss Cameron.” Agent #2 had waited until her hand was on the door. “Your boyfriend’s killer. He enjoys it. And if you don’t think his wrath can come down on you some day- or someone you love- your brother Alistair, perhaps? Then you’re a fool.”

Gripping the doorknob so hard that her knuckles turned white, she turned to look at them. “Fuck. You.” Her enunciation- part of those lovely finishing school manners- was crisp and clear. Isobel staggered down the hall, feeling shock and a tiny glow of accomplishment. That was the first time (in her life!) that she’d ever said that word. And it felt deeply satisfying. “Fuck…” she said to herself, rolling the curse around on her tongue, experimenting with the sound of it. All at once, the vision of those pictures, the grin on Thomas’s face- the same one she’d seen so many times but not as his hands were bathed in blood- came swimming up in her memory and the girl bolted for the toilet, barely making it as her lunch, breakfast and possibly anything consumed in the last month came up in a violent lurch.

Don’t think about them. Just keep dancing. Keep dancing.

By the time Isobel returned home on Monday, she felt like there were two of her, a hideous deja vu of her last month at Benenden after Thomas had claimed her in Madrid. One Isobel studied, worked on her essays, polished her diction in Mandarin. The other Isobel wept and shook and screamed, wondering what in her life was actually real. She knew she was being a coward. ‘Ask him!’ Her mind scolded her, ‘Ask him what the Corporation is. Ask him if he kills people! Ask him, you pathetic bitch!’ The other Isobel took her tests, smiled at Morris when he stood ready to open the door to the car for her at the end of the school day. The same Isobel that melted into Thomas’s arms as they curled around her, his warm lips on her neck as that lovely guttural tone lured her in to his bed.

‘It’s stress,’ she counseled herself as she vomited again after coming with a moan as Thomas stroked inside her, Isobel hurrying for the bathroom. “Just filling the tub!” She called out with false cheerfulness.

‘They’re lying bastards,’ Isobel thought firmly as she watched Thomas and Alistair play against each other on the Xbox. ‘No one could be this sweet to me, so kind to my brother and be a murderer. Someone who _enjoys_ killing.’

“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” Mary Margaret said, drawing deep on her cigarette as they both sat under the shade of a tree outside the hospital.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Isobel nodded. “I’m sure. But I need...I want to hear the rest, now.”

Thomas’s sister, those iridescent blue eyes so like her brother’s, turned to stare at the girl. “Why?”

Sighing deeply, Isobel shook her head. “Tell me.”

They both sat silently when Mary Margaret finished, nearly half a pack of cigarettes later. 

Finally, Isobel drew a long breath in through her nose, then out her mouth, a trick she'd learned to keep from vomiting during moments like these. "You're absolutely certain, Mary Margaret. You have no doubt."

The woman rolled her eyes, putting her cigarette pack in the pocket of her blue scrubs. "Isobel, did you hear anything I just told-"

"You're. Certain. Without A DOUBT!" The girl's shout rang through the courtyard, two patients enjoying the fresh air looking over in mild alarm.

Mary Margaret leaned forward, putting her hand on Isobel's arm, touching her for the first time. "You know it's the truth. Why now?"

Gritting her teeth against a sob, Isobel managed, "I'm pregnant."

 

It was two more unbearably long days before Thomas was off on an overnight business trip and Ari was out with friends before Isobel had the flat to herself. Taking a deep breath, she booted up Thomas’s desktop computer and started scrolling through passwords. She knew she had perhaps two, maybe three tries before the system would shut down. When the phrase, “BeautifulIsobel” opened the home screen, she cried. As Isobel rapidly started sorting through files, trying to find anything related to “Judas,” a tracker alarm pinged on Thomas’s phone, causing him to look down during the somewhat tense meeting with the Japanese Yakuza to see that someone was accessing his files from home. And the monitor's camera was quite clear, registering his Isobel’s teary-eyed face.

"Ari, come on- no time to grab anything else, we’re going NOW.” Alistair Jr froze, hearing the tone of controlled fear in his sister’s voice.

“What’s going on, Is? Why are you so upset? Where’s Thom-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Isobel forced herself to breathe normally, Air was looking at her with a mix of confusion and fear. “Look- not to worry. He’s meeting us. I just- I just don’t want to be late for the check-in, all right?”

"Yah, sure," her brother answered slowly. "And Thomas is meeting us there, right?"

"Of course," she answered curtly, grabbing her bag and pushing him towards the door of the flat.

It was the first time, she thought bitterly, the first time in four years of living with her beautiful and often terrifying lover that she'd used the credit card Thomas had put into her wallet. Isobel had a small inheritance from her grandparent's and a meager stipend from the ballet company and stubbornly used the income for everything. Rapidly typing in the pin code, Isobel looked around her, fidgeting as she waited for the machine to spit back out her card and the money. She'd left Ari in a small bed and breakfast, promising they'd be crossing the Channel to meet Thomas at a summer house in Tuscany. Walking back to the nondescript rental car, she forced herself to keep at just over the speed limit, not wanting to alert any traffic cameras. Who knew what Thomas could access. Everything, most likely.

"Ari, I'm back," she called, closing and locking the door, "let's get ready to go-"

Turning to look into the room, Isobel just managed to choke off a scream, seeing Thomas sitting next to a worried Alistair on the couch. "I called Thomas," her brother said bravely, "I was worried, Is- you seem off- I just wanted to make sure-"

She couldn't look at those polar eyes, she couldn't. Isobel already knew her death would be reflecting back from Thomas's beautiful gaze, and she couldn't break down in front of Ari. Not if there was a chance she could save him. "Oh, of course!" She said cheerfully, "I'm glad you could join us early, Thomas!" When they emerged from the little bed and breakfast, Morris was waiting next to the car, his grey suit pristine and face expressionless.

"Darling," purred Thomas, "why don't you head on with Morris? I'm taking Ari to Tuscany now, and you two can catch up after your...appointment." He wouldn't look at her, even though his tone was still loving and indulgent, smiling down at the sweet and trusting face of her little brother.

Fighting down the now-familiar surge of nausea, Isobel forced herself to smile. "Of course, what a good idea, Thomas. You know I'll do exactly what you suggest. Exactly." 

Nodding at her message of obedience, Thomas smiled thinly. "Good, darling. I'll see you soon."

Shut inside the car and hearing the locks engage, Isobel stifled a sob as she whirled in the seat to wave at Ari, a false, cheerful smile on her face until the figures of her brother and the monster who owned her disappeared. 

Whirling to try to meet the gaze of her expressionless bodyguard, she pleaded, “Morris…” as the privacy window between her seat and his rose silently, sealing her off from the rest of the world.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, Isobel wasn’t certain. All she knew was the expensive walnut paneling in the waiting area around the offices of the Big Three of the Corporation. It was too late to bargain, she thought, hands limp in her lap. She had nothing left to bargain with. But maybe she could save Ari from ever knowing what happened to her. She just had to be brave, Isobel thought. She could do that.

 

Thomas’s point of view:

How could it have _come_  to this? He raged silently, ignoring the avid gazes of the group lining the table in the Corporation boardroom. How could he not have _known_ his doll was capable of this? How could she not have come to him first? It didn’t matter now, Thomas thought bitterly. Now, he had to clean up the mess Isobel had made. When she was brought into the huge room, he had to force himself to hold his cold expression. 'Lying, cheating bitch!' He thought, getting his mind into the cold focus that would keep the little idiot alive. She was sheet-white, only two vivid spots of red on her high cheekbones to indicate blood was still flowing through her veins. He could see her visibly stiffen when Isobel realized a gloating Magnolia was lounging to his left, the grim line of Yakuza crime lords lining the table on the left side, Numbers One and Three on the right.

"Get on with it," Strong suddenly broke the silence. "We still have much to discuss with our partners, here." 

Thomas could see Isobel's pale green eyes skitter to the creature she called "Vanta Black," (he knew, _of course_ he knew how she felt about Strong- the silly girl talked in her sleep) then return to him. 

"You've betrayed the Corporation," Thomas said suddenly, the deep malice in his tone silencing Isobel before she could think to plead for Ari's life. "You are a faithless, stupid little whore. We know you spoke with the investigators from MI5-"

"I didn't tell them anything, Thomas! I didn't! I told them to-"

"Shut. UP!" He thundered, watching her stop short and bite her lip to smother a sob. "You have lost the right to speak. You have lost the right to expect treatment afforded to a human being. You are a lying." He examined Isobel's shocked and miserable face, "Cheating. Whore."

Isobel kept shaking her head, forcing herself not to look at the laughing Magnolia. "Oh, honey," the Southern bitch gloated, "I'm afraid your tears are a lil' late, darlin'."

Thomas interrupted the woman's taunting. "Come here." His constricted throat loosened just a tad as his doll obeyed him instantly. "Bend over the table, and put your hands out in front of you."

"Wait- Thomas!" Her half sob made white rage burn through his brain.

Grabbing the back of her head and gripping the thick hair there, he hissed, "The next words out of your mouth will cut off a finger from your brother's hands. One finger for each word." He saw her head nod silently, shoulders shaking with the effort to control her sobs. "You will look at our guests during your punishment. Your idiocy and disloyalty have dishonored them as well as the Corporation. When we have finished, you will beg their forgiveness." Thomas closed his eyes briefly. 'Steady. Man up, you stupid bastard. Keep her alive, even though she'll never forgive you.' Swallowing against the howls of fury and frustration, he calmly pulled his belt from the loops of his expensively tailored trousers. "You will count each strike, and you will thank me for it."

Hearing the unfurling of the leather behind her, Isobel clenched her fists. It was too late for her. And the baby. 'I'm sorry, baby,' she thought. 'Mummy is so sorry.' Shrieking involuntarily at the first, vicious slap of the belt, she gasped, "One! Th-thank you, Sir..."

 


	29. The Judas Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas realizes being a monster isn't as amusing as it used to be.

Even though Isobel knew she was reciting back the number of each of the tortuous strikes and even thanking Thomas for them in as clear a voice as she could manage, she really had no idea how long the beating was. It could have been 20 strikes, it could have been 100. Thomas stopped twice- to her horror- to make certain she was looking directly at the Japanese Yakuza contingent opposite her. The head of the syndicate was expressionless, but clearly paying attention. His lieutenants were smirking, slouching in their seats and eyeing her misery with amusement. Isobel finally managed to focus just directly at the leader’s left ear, appearing to stare at them without being forced to witness her own humiliation.

Far worse was that monstrous bitch, Magnolia at her left. The woman kept giggling during her beating and uttering false condolences in that unbearably affected southern accent of hers.

“Lawd, dahling. That last one musta’ hurt!”

“Aw, are you cryin’ lil one? You should be.”

And worst. “Mmmm...Thomas. This is kinda turnin’ me on. Remember that night at the Hellfire Club?”

The endless nature of her misery gave Isobel plenty of anguished reflection on what would have been a wiser decision. Should she have told Thomas about the agents? Why didn’t she? Feeling a trickling along her ribcage, Isobel realized she was bleeding, and the pain returned full force.

“Daddy- please... _please!”_

Dimly hearing Magnolia laugh out loud- “Oh, mah Gawd, _Daddy?_ Thomas, you sexy bastard!” Isobel sank her teeth into her lower lip before continuing to count mechanically, not even quite aware when he stopped.

 

Thomas's viewpoint:

He curled his left hand into a fist, trying to keep it from shaking as he dropped his belt. There were 100 lashes across the formerly flawless skin of his sweet doll- his Isobel. He'd always loved her skin, that pale Scottish sheen with a touch of rose underneath. The marks he'd caused were ugly- vicious red slashes against the porcelain finish of her back and ass. Swallowing down his horror and self-hatred, Thomas jerked his head at Morris. "Take her home," he ordered in a low tone, "lock her in the guest room." As the hand of her bodyguard for the last four years took Isobel's arm, Magnolia's spiteful voice rang out.

"Ah think you're forgettin' somethin', Thomas honey, offering the traitor cunt to one of our honored guests as apology."

Isobel stifled a gag, feeling Morris's hand tighten slightly against her arm as he stilled.

Staring dispassionately into the cycling madness of the red-headed bitch's eyes, Thomas narrowed his own. "Penance has been offered. I will see to the rest of her recompense in private."

Magnolia's luscious red lips opened to complain when she was cut off- surprisingly- by Number Three.

"God, Magnolia! Shut the fuck up! Stop making such a nuisance of yourself unless you're ready to take Isobel's place!" Harding's voice was sharp and vicious, making the American pale and sit back down. Taking advantage of the shift in attention, Morris smoothly drew a staggering Isobel away.

When the door shut, Thomas drew in a silent breath. "Now then. With that nasty business out of the way, gentlemen, shall we continue?"

He watched the head of the Yakuza- who Thomas knew very well spoke excellent English- bend his head to a subordinate, as if getting a translation for his apology. The lieutenant spoke for him.

"What is the Judas Project?" The heavily tattooed man leaned back.

It was Number One who answered, chuckling easily. "It's a test, actually. We administer it to associates that we have cause to doubt. The two agents are a plant- not MI5 but actually, two of our own. If the person in question searches for the file and doesn't report it to their superior- in this case, Thomas-" Strong smiled fondly at Thomas, who was gritting his teeth in the effort to keep from lunging across the table and beating the man to death. "Since the girl didn't reveal the encounter with the agents, she is now a risk. Thomas, did she ever report the conversation to you?"

His Number Two was stone cold, arctic blue eyes gazing into his own. "You know she didn't, Number One."

"Did she attempt to access the Judas File from your computer?" Strong continued to prod.

Thomas impatiently rolled his eyes. "You know she didn't, or I would have taken care of the breach by killing the girl myself. She is weak, but she is not a traitor," he lied, "Isobel simply didn't tell me. For which she will continue to be disciplined properly."

The Yakuza Second listened to his superior, then asked "How do you know?"

Thomas leaned back, all confidence as he ran a finger across his upper lip. "You have access, of course, to the report from our false MI5 agents. The girl refused to believe them and left the interrogation. She never attempted to search the Corporation database for the Judas file."

He watched as the Yakuza head listened to the murmured explanation from his subordinate. The man’s eyes were such a dark brown as to be nearly black, staring out expressionlessly beneath heavy lids. He stared at Thomas’s impassive expression for an uncomfortably long moment, then nodded his head. To his disgust, Thomas could feel Magnolia’s foot slide over his ankle, and he smoothly moved his own to grind his heel down on her sensitive instep, enjoying her barely muffled groan of pain and fury.

 

Isobel meanwhile, barely managed to make it out of that hellish boardroom before her knees gave out. Slumping against a sofa, she pushed away Morris's attempt to lift her. "Just...don't." She gasped, "I'll, I can, just..." Struggling to her feet again, the girl staggered off the floor and into the lift. Once in the car, she leaned her cheek against the glass of the window and closed her eyes. Isobel waited for the sound of the privacy glass between the front and back seats to rise. When it didn't, she asked, "Ari. Where is he? They didn't hurt-" her voice broke for a moment.

"No, Miss Cameron. Your brother is safe." Morris's voice was as deadpan as usual, though it sounded like he was forcing the words out between gritted teeth.

"Where is he?"

"I do not have that information. But I do know he is safe." The driver kept his usual sedate pace, listening to the muffled sobbing behind him.

"Thank you, Morris." 

They spent the rest of the ride to the flat in silence, and Isobel carefully removed herself from the seat, somehow spitefully pleased to see blood smeared on the leather of her bodyguard’s pristine car.

 

Without being told, Isobel headed for the guest bedroom, still strewn with Ari’s leftovers from their hasty departure. The sight of his jersey on the floor made her nearly start crying again, but she forced herself to remember Morris’s words. He was safe. Leaning against the tiled wall of the shower, Isobel finally let herself go, cupping the faint curve in her stomach protectively as her grief and hopelessness drained out of her. When she came out of the shower, her lip curled to realize Morris had quickly tidied the room and set out a couple of changes of clothing for her. Sorting through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, she found some paracetamol and swallowed it gratefully, wishing there was something stronger. But then that chattering voice inside her reminded “I can’t take anything strong because I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant.”

The pills nearly came back up but Isobel swallowed hard and forced them back down. She didn’t bother to consider escape because she knew how completely secure the building was. Her lash marks had stopped bleeding, but she didn’t have anything to put on them and couldn’t reach the majority anyway. Where would she go? No money, no phone, and Ari held hostage for her good behavior. So, she did the only thing left to her, falling face first into the soft bed and falling asleep almost instantly. Isobel was so exhausted that she never heard the door open, never saw the tall shadow of Thomas lean over her, never felt his hand stroke along her cheek and hair, and never heard him whisper, “I’m so sorry, love. What I did to you- I am so sorry.”

Waking the next morning, Isobel let out a strangled scream when she moved, forgetting that had been done to her the day before. Lying still in the center of her agony, she felt her grief and her hate battling for top position inside her. The horror and the humiliation of the day came back to her as the girl tried to gulp down her sobs. 'I won't cry for him,' she thought. 'Not ever again.' So, her face was dry when the locked door clicked open and a carefully expressionless Thomas entered the room. He was perfectly put together, as always, resplendent in a cerulean blue suit, open necked white shirt. He did not touch her as Isobel slowly rose to her feet, staring back at him.

"Please don't-"

Some twisted part of Thomas filled with irritation. It was always this. "Please don't kill me, I'll give you anything-"

"Please, I'll pay you more than they are, please don't-"

"Please don't kill me! Take him! Kill him instead!" 

Why could no one die with any _dignity?_ The twisted part whispered. 

But this wasn't just anyone, and he should have known her first words would not be for herself. "Please don't let Ari know that you did...when you do it. He- he would never believe it of you. Please just let him go. He never has to know."

Thomas frowned down at her. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to him that his doll would ever think he'd end her life. Mocking himself for his short-sightedness, he thought, 'Of course she would, you monster. You just beat her within an inch of her life in front of those Yakuza bastards and the Corporation.'

"I'm not going to kill you," he finally managed. He could see his sweet doll was struggling with the misery of her brutal strapping from the day before and her obvious terror of him. "I know you have good reason to doubt that, but I assure you, that is not my intention."

Isobel sagged a little against the expensive antique bureau. "Where's Ari?"

Thomas smiled, trying to be reassuring. "He's at a vacation house in Tuscany. I wanted to keep as closely to your story as possible. Simja is there with him."

Simja. Oh, thank God. No matter what her doubts and fears, Isobel somehow knew her irritable Israeli friend would keep Ari safe. The man before her was looking her over carefully, and she stiffened defensively.

"Darling, I need...your wounds need caring for, or they'll scar, perhaps become infected."

Isobel reared up against him like a feral cat. "You don't _touch_ me! You don't get to, not ever again." She was furious with herself to feel sorrow when a flash of pain went through those ocean-blue eyes, but Thomas held his temper.

"It's either Morris, or myself," he answered flatly. "You decide."

Which is how she found herself naked on the bed again, face down and buried in her folded arms, trying to pretend she didn’t feel his gentle hands on her, disinfecting her slashes as Isobel tried not to whimper, then began smoothing numbing cream on her wounds. “Such a brave girl…” he soothed, “you showed such courage, yesterday and today.” His big hands stilled for a moment as the bruised body under him stiffened furiously, then Thomas dipped his fingers in the salve and began to attend to another whip mark. His grief tripled as he realized the new slashes were formed over the bruises still healing from their play just a few days before, here in the flat. He was as gentle as he could be, but Thomas closed his eyes as he realized his lovely doll was weeping with relief by the time he'd finished. "Shhh...love, hush now," he soothed, smoothing back her hair. "I'm going to get you something to eat. Just rest a moment and we'll...we'll talk, all right?" Seeing her nod into her arms, he stroked her flushed cheek before rising from the bed.

Isobel was genuinely surprised to find herself suddenly ravenous when he reappeared with a tray full of soup, nuts and cheeses, her favorite balsamic broccoli and fresh juice. "It's because of the baby- you're pregnant there's a baby-" reminded that insistent little voice inside her. Slowing down to chew more carefully, the girl tried to picture the tiny bundle of nerves and cells within her, wondering how far along she could be. Thomas sat in the chair opposite the bed, not moving and simply watching her eat. When it seemed she'd slowed down, he took the tray off her lap and put more pillows behind her to bolster her position as Isobel lay miserably on her side.

"We need to talk, darling." Watching her full lips tighten, Thomas forced down another surge of protectiveness, knowing the monster she needed protection from was him. "The agents who accosted you at the theatre? They were not MI5." Those huge green eyes shot up to his regretful ones. “This is an exercise...a test if you will designed by the Corporation. If the target does not report the encounter, we know they’re a risk. If they actively search for the Judas file, they are-” Thomas paused, blowing out a puff of air, forcing himself to slow down. “-They are eliminated as a traitor.”

He watched her hands grip against each other, knuckles white against the sheet. “Did you…” Isobel drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to look up at him challengingly. “Did you order the test for me?”

Thomas shook his head emphatically. "Never." His handsome face tightened with fury as he looked at her. "It was Number One- Strong- I'm sure of it. Although," he said darkly, idly smoothing the sheet over her lap, "the sheer _coincidence,_ " he hissed, "that that bitch Magnolia was suddenly present for a board discipline session causes me to think it was a joint effort."

She shuddered, still looking down at the sheet. "When I saw her sitting next to you with that horrible-" Isobel suddenly hissed, "horrible smile, I thought you'd-" 

"Changed my loyalties?" Thomas finished, looking at her fingers gripping the covers, "Never. What I have done in exposing you to this kind of danger is monstrous enough." Isobel glanced up at him then, startled at this pained confession. Sighing, he straightened his spine. "Tell me. Why didn't you come to me when the false agents spoke to you?"

Isobel opened and closed her mouth. What would she say? What could she say to this beautiful, terrifying man? "I didn't believe them, at first." She answered slowly. "Even when they started saying all those filthy things..." Thomas nodded patiently. "But then, the pictures they showed me-" Isobel unsuccessfully concealed a shudder. "You were smiling- you were cutting a man's throat open- all the blood- and you were smiling. I knew it was you."

Thomas leaned back, frowned. Pictures? There was never any kind of evidence attached to a Judas Interview. The risk of exposure was insanity. "What do you mean, darling?"

"You!" Isobel hissed with heartbroken fury. "They said it was the night before you came to-" She fought against the tears rising in her throat, but failed. "When you surprised me at my performance. They said you'd killed those men you'd met with before coming to s-s-see me." 

“Oh, Isobel…” Thomas sighed, “I didn’t kill anyone." He paused uncomfortably, " _That_ night.” She successfully concealed a shudder at the clear implication that it didn’t mean he hadn’t on many other nights. “Describe the photo to me, I know it’s upsetting.”

“It was you- cutting...cutting a man’s throat with your knife and smiling.” Isobel swallowed down her nausea. “Harding was in the picture, too. He was shooting another man in the head.”

Nodding absently, Thomas could feel his unease growing. This was wrong. Completely, from beginning to end. What photo could it have been? The sudden vision of a child sex resort unwilling to cut ties to the Corporation in his early rise to power came back to him. He’d slashed the throat of the hairy Peruvian with great relish, and remembered Number 3 finishing off the pervert’s lieutenant at the same time. Who would have kept such an _incriminating_ photo all this time? His jaw tightened at the only obvious answer: Strong. Clearing his throat, he tried to concentrate. “Isobel, love.” Thomas sighed, “Why would you not have come to me? After eight years, being together- why wouldn’t you have told me?”

She was crying again, he saw, heart twisting painfully. “I had to- I had to know, I had to know for certain who you were. Because it wasn’t just me anymore, it-”

“But you know I would always take care of you and Ari,” he interrupted, “haven’t I always done so?”

Isobel tried again, “It’s not just me! It’s...I’m…”

Thomas shook his head, carefully turning her on one hip to look at him. “You’re what, Isobel? Tell me?”

“I’m pregnant!” She nearly shouted, then burst into horrified sobs.

For one beautiful moment, the only truly unguarded expression she’d ever seen on her lover’s face bloomed, a look of stunned joy. Thomas instinctively reached out for her, and Isobel felt herself flinch. He instantly pulled away, his face back in impassive lines. “How did this happen?” Thomas finally said calmly, “Your contraceptive shots…”

Looking down at her hands, Isobel admitted, “I didn’t know either. But I looked back through my schedule after finding out that- about the baby. I was so busy with the ballet and school that I missed an appointment. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Thomas.”

His big hand went under her chin, lifting it to look at him. “There’s nothing to apologize for, sweetness. A baby from someone as perfect and lovely as you can only be a miracle. I will…” Thomas ran his hand through his perfectly ordered curls, sending them in disarray. “I will keep you safe, love. You, Ari, and the...the baby. I swear it.”

 

 

 

 

 


	30. Family Matters, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas examines his options. So very many options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of Thomas' redemption. Give him a tiny bit of credit, given that he hasn't experienced many actual human emotions besides control and lust for a long time. I apologize for so little smut, I promise to make up for it.

Despite his surprising tenderness, Isobel noted that Thomas still left her in the guest room, and locked the door. Putting a big hand to her cheek, he leaned in, looking at her closely. “It is in your best interests,” he said very precisely, “to appear to be continuing your punishment. Do you understand?” Realizing that he meant she was still under scrutiny, Isobel rubbed tiredly at her eyes and nodded. Still, her heart twisted as she heard the key turn in the lock.  Putting herself on her side, Isobel curled up with her hand over her belly and stared out the window, restlessly viewing the shifting nightmare scenes of the last few days until her exhausted brain slowed to a stop, allowing her to sleep.

Thomas’s perspective:

Pacing back and forth across his study, he rapidly went through dozens of scenarios, discarding most and keeping others for later examination. Isobel’s clever hacking into his home computer was thankfully something he could conceal from Number One. But now she was on the Corporation’s radar as a security risk. And because of his unwillingness to kill her, it made him look...soft. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness at this juncture, everything he’d worked for during this last two years was coming to a head.

Thomas’s steps slowed as he remembered Isobel flinching away as he reached for her. He knew she’d always been a little afraid of what he might be capable of, but nothing like this. As if he was repellent. As if merely touching Isobel would soil her, hurt the baby.

The baby.

He still couldn’t help the leap of his heart, thinking about their child hidden inside her. With Thomas’s excellent memory and utter attention to all things Isobel, he remembered her last cycle having been around seven weeks ago. She was always so embarrassed at having sex during her period, but Thomas found her wildly arousing- her pussy even tighter, more soft and swollen. He enjoyed her embarrassment as he made her come, staining his cock crimson. Mentally shaking himself, Thomas began examining the incriminating photo added into the mix by the false MI5 agents. Why had Strong taken a photo during a kill? Why had he kept it? Number One (and that nauseating bitch Magnolia? Where did she fit in here?) knew the terrifying images could cause Isobel to flee, rather than coming to him. Engineering a scenario where his sweet doll would be executed was a test of loyalty. It was obvious. The question was, why did Number One order it? Did he suspect Thomas? How could he possibly? He'd covered his tracks so well...

Angrily pouring a glass of Jameson and taking a harsh swallow, Thomas began pacing again. Ari was safe, Simja would set fire to half the Tuscan countryside to keep him from harm. Isobel was here, with him, just as she should be. He'd keep her under lock and key if he had to.

 

"No...please don't- not- don't hurt him- he's- oh GOD, DON'T!"

Thomas shot upright at Isobel's terrified screaming and shot out the master bedroom door, fumbling with the lock to the guest room, nearly ripping the heavy oak door off it's hinges to get at his doll. "Shh! Babygirl, it's all right. Sweetness, shhh...you're all right. You're safe. The baby is safe. Ari is safe." His long arms enfolded the shuddering girl as her hands blindly batted at him, trying to push him away. "Shhhh...I've got you, Isobel. I won't let anything happen to you." He was carefully angling her away from the window, which looked out into another expensive building across the little park. Once she was out of line of sight, Thomas covered her face with kisses. "My sweet girl, I know you're terrified. But you must relax. This is bad for you...and the baby."

At mention of the life inside her, Isobel stiffened, trying to push him away. "Don't! Don't you pretend-"

"What?" Thomas asked sharply, "Don't admit that I'm overjoyed? That the idea of our child growing inside your lovely body doesn't give me far more happiness than I deserve? I am sorry to disappoint you, darling. But it does. I know this is the worst possible time. But I am."

Those huge seafoam eyes he so loved turned up to him, wet with tears. "You are?"

For the second time in as many days, Thomas felt the alien notions of sorrow and self-disgust swamp him. Of course his doll would assume the worst. "Yes, darling, I am," he emphasized, "you swollen with my baby? These sweet breasts full with milk?" He groaned internally, feeling his cock stiffen. Angling his pelvis away from where she sat on his lap, he tried to refocus on her tears. "I understand that your...priorities changed, why you didn't come to me. You thought you had to protect our baby first." To his irritation, his unmanageable cock was still rising at the sudden image of Isobel glowing, several months pregnant with a sweet, rounded belly. Said unmanageable cock deflated as she spoke again.

"How many people have you killed, Thomas?" Isobel's voice was small, but determined, and she took a deep breath, looking up at him again.

Thomas felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He'd made peace long ago with who he was, the things he did. But to see the sorrowful face of the only person he was certain he loved in this world made him flounder a little. How many was it? He used to know. While the numbers had certainly dwindled over the years as he rose to power, he used to remember every face- some with satisfaction, some with disgust. He simply knew every one of them _deserved_ it. "Why do you want to know, love?"

Her eyes dropped, and Isobel shook her head. "I...I don't want to know. But I've closed my eyes so many times when I shouldn't have, since that time I cleaned the blood off your shoes-"

"You what?" Thomas interrupted, "When was this?"

"Just a few days after I came to live with you," Isobel answered, "we were going to take Ari to ride on the Eye and you were taking a shower. I was putting your shoes away when I touched them and there was blood-"

"What did you do?" He asked slowly, "Why didn't you say anything?"

Isobel looked at him as if it was obvious. "Because I was terrified of you." Thomas felt another psychic punch to his solar plexus. "I cleaned them off. Then I put the rag in the building's incinerator with the other trash."

Thomas ran his hand over the back of her hair, the fine strands catching slightly in his calloused fingers. "Isobel," he sighed, "I've always tried to keep you separate from that-"

"You can't!" Isobel interrupted him, for the first time that Thomas could ever remember. "You can't," she repeated, "it's part of me now, too. It's part of the baby." Thomas noticed that even as she asked him these terrible things, she didn't move from his lap or push away his arms around her. "I talked to Mary Margaret, finally." Had it really been only three days? "She told me how it started. About Cameron."

He stared at her in fury. Who was this girl? Sneaking around, poking into his private- 'She's your doll, your Isobel,' Thomas reminded himself. 'You told her you were her family.' Taking a deep breath in and letting it out through his nose, he forced himself to calm down. "I don't like...talking about that time. I don't like you knowing about it. But it is your right. I know this not a life you would have chosen, I chose it for you, I know." Thomas lifted her hand and kissed it. "But, here we are..." Looking down into her pale gaze, he was struck again with the impossibility that this creature loved him. Loved him still, even after everything he'd done. He could see it. Should he tell her? Give her hope? The long-held rule of 'say nothing' returned in force. Anything she knew made her a liability to the Corporation. 

Starting again, Thomas forced a smile. "Here we are, Isobel. One does not leave the Corporation. I think you know that." As her eyes filled with tears, Isobel still nodded, looking down. Taking her chin, he tilted her face back up. "But I will protect you. The baby, Ari. Our-our family. Nothing of the Corporation will touch you again. I will make that quite. Clear." Thomas gritted out, trying to shove down his cataclysmic fury before it terrified his doll. Isobel put her hands on his chest, palms flat over his heart. When she looked up, Thomas could see that 14 year old once more, the one in the garden who took his shriveled heart and made it beat again.

"Promise?" Isobel drew back, shaking her head and mocking herself. "Promise. You can't promise magical outcomes." Hands still pressed against his broad chest, she begged, "Promise to try."

Taking her face in his hands, Thomas said, "I promise to try." His sweet doll burst into tears and clung to him, arms wrapped around him now and desperately kissing his face. Groaning inwardly as his cock began stirring, Thomas kissed her and tried to gently disengage. "Sweetheart."

Isobel was still crying as she rubbed against him, hands under his t-shirt and sliding over the skin of his back, "Please, just-" She pushed harder against him, one hand sliding down his hard belly to the waistband of his sleeping pants. "Please be in me, Thomas? I know it'll be all right if you-" Thomas stilled her, holding his arms around her carefully to stop her frantic kissing.

"Love, you're scared and confused, and you will hate me tomorrow if we do this." He groaned out loud this time as her swirling hip rubbed against his cock. "I want you more than you can imagine, but- stop, Isobel." His rapidly employed Daddy voice made her stop instantly, still crying. Putting her arms around his neck and tucking her face into that spot she liked under his chin, Thomas sighed, rocking Isobel back and forth until she fell asleep again. He deliberately tortured himself by holding her as she slept, feeling the softness of her against him. Finally putting her back on her pillow and pulling the covers up, Thomas pressed a kiss on her forehead and left the room, keeping out of line of sight from the bedroom window and locking the door shut. He knew someone was using surveillance on his flat, and he now knew who it was. He was under Number One's scrutiny, which meant he would have to move ahead much more quickly than he'd planned. Logging on to a secure channel, he connected with his contact.

"Procurement of item and formula must be done within 72 hours."

_"I do not think it will be possible."_

Thomas leaned back, running his hand through his dark curls. "You will make it possible. Check your bank line. what do you see?"

_"An additional one million pounds, Sir."_

"There will be another when I receive the item and formula within the time frame."

_"Understood."_

Sitting in his office chair and watching the sun come up, Thomas struggled against the alien feeling of anxiety, sorting through the endlessly circling scenarios. He needed to keep manipulating the Venezuelans and the Yakuza. Then, put them all in the same room, and it's a war zone. With Number One right in the fucking middle. He could do this. The Corporation dismantled and Isobel would be free. His...family would be free. The first slant of sunlight came across his beautiful face as Thomas experimentally mouthed the word. 

"Family."

 


	31. "...Since I Gave You Your First Kiss On Your 16th Birthday."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas and Isobel come together under the darkening skies of the Corporation's hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the honor of beta'ing misreall's latest effort- about Jotunn Loki who rules Midgard for his father. It is beyond my wildest hopes. You can read the first two chapters (and squee like the fangirls we are) here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11897298/chapters/26875554

Isobel woke the next morning to a polite rap on the door of the bedroom.

"Thomas?" She croaked, trying to roll over without crying out in agony.

"No, Miss Cameron, it's Morris. May I come in?"

Blinking rapidly to keep from crying, Isobel cleared her throat. "Just a minute, all right? I need to get dressed."

As always, her bodyguard's tone was low and blandly even. "Of course, Miss Cameron. Just let me know when you're ready."

About to struggle miserably out of bed, the girl paused to see a small dish of pills, a bottle of water and a note.

“Take these. They will help with the pain and prevent infection.”

The curt note was in Thomas’s bold handwriting, but with none of the tenderness of the night before. Frowning, Isobel obeyed his directions and swallowed the pills. She knew he wouldn’t give her anything that might affect the baby- “The baby you have a baby you’re pregnant…” whispered that insistent little voice again. Did the locked door and indifferent instructions mean Thomas didn’t trust Morris? Her bodyguard was the only other soul who’d seen her since that horrible night at the Corporation. Why wouldn’t he just tell her, if that was the case? Leaning gratefully against the cool tile of the shower, Isobel rested her hot forehead on the surface as she thought about something Mary Margaret had said.

“Does he tell you anything?” They were still outside in the watery London sunshine outside the hospital, Isobel still trying to reconcile all the terrible information Thomas’s sister had given her.

Isobel looked up, confused. “You mean, about- what? The Corporation? Not really, only what role I’m meant to play during company dinners and meetings,” she answered with a cynical smile, something rarely seen on her before.

Flicking her cigarette, Mary Margaret shrugged. "I'm not surprised. He wouldn't want to implicate you with law enforcement, or endanger you if those Corporation bastards thought you knew anything. But keeping you in the dark hasn't been particularly helpful, has it?" She watched the girl next to her rub her hand over her welling eyes. "He used to say that to me, you know," Mary Margaret offered suddenly, "when I'd argued and fought with him to the point he'd make me stop. Thomas would tell me that he was doing it to keep me safe. That I was better off not knowing anything."

"Do you..." Isobel took a deep breath and started again. "Do you think he'll ever change? Leave the Corporation?" She refused to look at Thomas's sister, knowing there'd be pity in her vivid blue eyes, so much like her brother's.

"No, honey." Mary Margaret's voice was painfully gentle. "No, I don't. But I don't think he'll ever let go of you, either."

 

Showered and set expression back in place, Isobel opened the bedroom door to see Morris patiently waiting, hands folded in front of him. "Miss Cameron, I've made breakfast. Won't you come sit down?"

Suddenly, the smell of bacon nearly made her gag, but Isobel swallowed against it and forced herself to smile. Morning sickness already, she wondered bleakly. "Thank you, Morris, breakfast sounds good." Her bodyguard sat across the big walnut table from her, silently watching her eat while checking messages on his phone. Isobel had four years experience of trying to pry information out of her grey-suited shadow, and his posture today didn't bode well for answering her questions. But she had to try.

"Are they going to kill me?"

Morris's eyes darted up from his phone. "I have not heard anything that would lead me to believe that, Miss Cameron."

Isobel bit her full lower lip, chewing it as she pondered her next question. "They aren't going to hurt- they won't do anything to Thomas, will they?"

His brow rose slightly, a sure sign of astonishment. "I can't imagine that would ever happen. Mr. Williams is...extremely valuable to the Corporation."

Cursing the feeling of relief that coursed through her, Isobel nodded and went back to her eggs.

 

This was the tiresome routine of the next five days. Thomas was rarely at the flat, but Morris was always close by, her silent, grey shadow. Isobel would eat, practice her self-defense moves, read books (because she wasn't allowed access to a computer) and soaked in her huge, egg-shaped tub, wondering what was happening with Ari, wondering what Thomas was doing, trying to think of yet another way to free herself and her family from the nightmare surrounding them. She only saw Thomas at night, when he thought she was asleep, unlocking the door to the guest room and looking in on her, quietly asking Morris how she'd been. Each time Isobel prayed he'd come in, smooth one of his big, rough hands over her hair like he used to, maybe even kiss her forehead. But he didn't touch her. 

On the sixth day, Isobel woke as the door opened, the tall form of her captor standing over her. "Isobel, love. Wake up." Thomas's hand ran down her cheek, and she actually shuddered with gratitude. She'd missed his touch so badly. "We're going on a trip. You need to get dressed. I've laid out some clothes for you, so take a shower and get ready. We leave in 30 minutes."

"Wait!" Isobel grabbed his hand in hers as he began to pull away. "Where are we going? Where have you been? Is Ari all right?"

He turned to her, looking down into the girl's eager, anxious face. His smile was one of the most tender she'd ever seen. "I promise to answer all of your questions, my darling. But not now. We'll talk on the plane."

Isobel was ready in 20 minutes, standing by the luggage he'd packed for her. Thomas smothered his smile. She looked so beautiful, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, dressed in a sophisticated pale green linen sheath and her hair twisted up in a chignon. Morris drove them to the airport, his back stiff and radiating disapproval. When they'd entered the jet, her bodyguard was practically on top of them, breathing down her neck. "Morris," Thomas said pleasantly, "Isobel and I will be taking the main cabin for ourselves." One short nod and the man walked off, further into the jet.

"Why is Morris upset?" Isobel asked when the door was shut and Thomas was loosening his tie.

He smiled cynically. "He doesn't think it's safe for you to be leaving the flat. But I require you to be on this trip, showing that you are as always, demure and obedient to me." Rapidly putting one long finger to his lips, Thomas shushed her. 

"I...see," Isobel said in a chilly little voice.

Pulling out a small notebook, Thomas rapidly wrote, "This cabin is bugged. Our conversation must be completely boring and impersonal, when we speak at all."

Green eyes wide, she nodded rapidly. Over the next hour, Thomas and Isobel jotted down enough questions and answers to tell her that they were heading to Scotland, that they were on a business trip for the Corporation, that she must appeared to be cowed and afraid of him. His eyes watched hers turn watery at the last instruction, but Isobel nodded. 

Thomas wrote, "I'm taking you to an OB/GYN in Edinburgh to see how you and the little one are doing. You must not say anything to anyone."

Chewing the end of the pen, Isobel finally returned, "Do you trust Morris?"

Taking her chin in his hand, he stared at her with a frown, shaking his head. Writing again, "Trust no one."

 

Settled in the Balmoral Hotel, Morris left them, back still rigid with disapproval. So Isobel was startled when there was a discreet knock on the door shortly after. Thomas put his hand just inside his jacket as he looked through the spyhole, then relaxed, pulling his hand free and opening the door to tall, irritable-looking woman carrying a black doctor's bag. "Thank you for coming, Dr. MacLeod," he said smoothly, "I do appreciate you taking the time and inconvenience to meet us here, instead of at your office."

"Humph," the woman nodded, gesturing to a small rolling cart. "Bring that in, please."

Isobel smothered a smile as Thomas quickly did as he was told.

Eyeing the girl, Dr. MacLeod said, "This will be more comfortable if you're on a bed, my dear."

Noticing there were no introductions and assuming there was a reason why, Isobel merely nodded and headed for the bedroom, changing into a robe the doctor handed her. Settling on the expensive white sheets, she turned to look at Thomas, standing by the door, almost awkwardly. With a smile, Isobel held out her hand, waiting for him to come over and take it, sitting on the bed next to her. After a careful examination, Dr. MacLeod opened Isobel's robe and smeared some gel on her flat stomach. 

"Let's see if we can get some more information about the wee one, shall we?"

For one sickening moment, Thomas wondered if the pregnancy test had been wrong- that there was no baby. The grief of the moment shocked him. He was so careful about his emotions, so rigid about allowing himself to feel anything. But the almost imperceptible swell of his Isobel's stomach had suddenly contained everything he'd hoped for.  And when the doctor's wand suddenly swept over a tiny, grainy form and they heard the anxious, rapid flutter of their baby's heartbeat, Thomas and Isobel put their heads together, both trying to hide their tears from the other.

After more measurements and some rapid clicks of the button on her sonogram, Dr. MacLeod leaned back, handing Isobel a cloth to wipe off the gel. "The fetus looks to be in excellent shape- good movement, everything progressing nicely for a seven or eight week old. Here's your prenatal vitamins- every day, now! You'll need to be checked in another month. Here's a list of foods to add to your diet. Plenty of sleep and fluids..." The woman's instructions died off, and she eyed them both. "It is important," she said precisely, "to keep both mother and father as calm and relaxed as possible for the health of this baby. Do you both understand?" The doctor watched their entwined hands tighten against each other and nodded. Good.

After escorting the doctor out, Thomas returned to see Isobel curled up on the bed, crying. "What? What's the matter? Are you in pain?" He was next to her in a moment, cupping one wet cheek.

"No," she sniffed, "it's not that- I'm just overwhelmed. We're going to be parents. Our baby- this child is real! Can we keep our baby safe?"

Thomas kissed her wet cheeks, her chin and then her trembling mouth. "Of course. Of course we will. I will never let anything happen to either of you. Not ever again."

 

Isobel was a little impressed with her acting ability that night at the Corporation dinner with their new clients. Despite the endless, joyful loop of "You're pregnant there's a baby, you're having a baby, you and Thomas are having a baby..." going through her brain, she was able to look meek and just a tad fearful every time Thomas spoke to her or touched her. She could feel the black gaze of Number One on her almost constantly, along with concerned expressions from Harding, who leaned in occasionally to get a good look at her. The clients, she could tell, dismissed her as some pretty whore brought along as female decoration. It was nearly midnight when the still disapproving Morris dropped them at their suite at the Balmoral, Thomas turned to her as soon as he shut the door. 

"Are you very tired, sweetheart?"

Despite her anxiety, Isobel melted into a smile at the affectionate question. "No, I feel fine. I think all I've been doing for the last week is sleeping."

A shadow crossed over his azure eyes, but Thomas nodded. "There's a dress for you, hanging in the closet. Will you go put it on?"

Opening the door, Isobel sighed rapturously. It was beautiful- a light cream colored lace dress, draping low in the back and ending around her ankles. Thomas stepped behind her as she pulled it up to her shoulders. Zipping up the side of the dress, he smiled to see it flow over her perfectly. "Beautiful, darling. The dress...you. Exquisitely beautiful."

“Where are we going?” Isobel was doing her usual circuit of darting back and forth between car windows, trying to catch all the sights she remembered of Edinburgh as a child.

Thomas chuckled, watching her excitement. “You’ll see.” He turned into a narrow alleyway, finally coming to a stop behind a tall granite edifice.

Isobel gasped. “I know this place! It’s the old Corstorphine Old Parish Church! My grandmother took me here a few times when I was a little girl.”

“I remember you telling me your grandparents were from this part of Edinburgh,” Thomas nodded, turning off the car. He pulled something from his jacket pocket, turning it over and over in his long fingers as they sat in the dark, hearing the cooling engine whine slowly. “This is my father’s,” he said suddenly, “one of the few things I have left from him.” Isobel instantly recognized the battered silver ring as one of the few pieces of jewelry in the box where Thomas kept his memories and pictures from childhood. “It won’t fit your little finger, of course, but…” The expression on his beautiful face was one she’d never seen before- uncertainty. “I would like to put it on your finger, even if we have to hide it tomorrow- I would like to see it there. When it’s safe, when I can, I will buy you the largest diamond ring on this continent, but for now-”

“What are you asking me, Thomas?” Isobel was certain the fluttering of her heart could been seen through the lace neckline of her dress.

Taking her left hand, he kissed it lingeringly. “Isobel Bronwyn Cameron,” Thomas asked gravely, ”would you do me the honor of marrying me? I believe… I believe I have loved you since I gave you your first kiss on your 16th birthday.”

During the few times the girl had ever allowed herself to think of her fearful, beloved man proposing, Isobel assumed she’d burst into tears. But instead, she felt a huge surge of joy as she kissed his hand back. “Of course, Thomas. Yes. I think I have loved you my whole life.”

From then, it was easy. A lovely old altar with simple Scottish flowers and glowing tapers. The gentle tone of the Reverend as she spoke the words. The smiles on the faces of the gardener and his wife who’d been called in to act as witnesses. And when Isobel felt the heavy old ring slip loosely onto her slim finger, she did cry, daring to let herself believe that everything would be all right.

Safely back in their opulent suite, Isobel followed Thomas to their bedroom, standing still as he carefully undressed her, kissing each part of her skin as he unveiled it. Dropping gracefully to his knees to slide down her undies, he looked up as he rested his big hands on her hips. “Do you feel well enough? We can wait.”

Running her hands through his dark hair, Isobel nodded. “I feel wonderful. The only thing I need now is you.”

After living with this man for four years, sharing his bed and giving him her body almost every day, she didn’t expect this time to be different, but somehow, it was. For both Isobel and Thomas. After putting her back against the small mountain of pillows, he stood and undressed rapidly, shedding his expensive suit indifferently as he gazed down at his lovely doll, dark hair spread across the white pillow, skin glowing with her happiness.

She shivered a bit as he put one knee on the mattress, crawling up to her slowly with an almost feral gleam in his eyes. Lying back, Isobel felt the heat of his breath along her skin as he moved over her, arms braced by her head, body held just over hers. When he finally spoke, she shuddered again, the raw arousal his voice sparked was almost unbearable.

“My lovely Isobel,” he purred, deep, resonant, the dark edges of his words curling along her skin and seeping into her blood, making the girl suddenly feel too hot, shifting against the hard length of him. “It’s been an age,” Thomas murmured, dipping his head to run his tongue along the taut cord of her neck, enjoying her little, rapturous shudder. “since I’ve been inside your tender pussy. God…” he drawled out, “I’ve missed the feel of you, clutching around my cock.”

“Mmmm…” Isobel moaned, trying to rub her breasts against the wiry hair on his chest, “we’ve never been...you know...apart for that long.” Her hips shifted as the long fingers of one hand pressed against her center, sliding along her wet lips and gently tapping, then pulling on her swelling clit.

“Apart?” Thomas asked, the teasing tone of his voice quite alien but not unwelcome.

“You know,” blushed Isobel, trying to concentrate as two thick fingers began sliding inside her, gently rubbing her sensitive walls and scissoring slightly, as if testing her ability to take him again. Suddenly, the memory of her dark lover doing the same thing to prepare her their first night together returned, making Isobel gasp. She felt like that virgin again, but this time eagerly anticipating the stretch and the sting, knowing it would give way to wildly erotic rewards, transforming to heat and wet, the press of his blazing skin against her as the thick column of flesh carved through her again.

Infuriatingly, his fingers stilled inside her, his rough thumb ceased the rotation over her clit. “I don’t believe I do, baby,” Thomas’s voice was sin, taunting her with it’s filthy promise and equal parts amusement at her shyness. “Tell Daddy what you mean.”

“Eight days,” she finally moaned, “the longest we’ve ever gone without, you know, sex is two days. It’s been so long.”

“Oh, little one,” Thomas soothed, the faint edge of mischief in his warm tone, “do you want Daddy to make it all better for you? Has it been uncomfortable? Perhaps those pregnancy hormones are starting to make you a little...edgy?” One hand rose to stroke and squeeze her breasts, enjoying her sharp inhale of breath. “I believe these perfect breasts are rather swollen already. Are they sensitive? If I pinch your hard little nipple-” Isobel yelped as he did so, her hands going up and suddenly pressing his head against the swollen peaks, making him chuckle. She’d never been quite so aggressive in her physical, unspoken requests before. “I do believe they are most sensitive,” he continued, placing long, sucking kisses along both breasts before making his other hand move inside her again. 

“Draw up your knees, love.”

Isobel did as she was told, sighing with relief when she felt the broad head of his shaft nudge against her opening. Thomas gritted his teeth, trying to move slowly, soft strokes of in and out, pushing a little deeper each time. His sweet doll was as narrow as a virgin again, so tight and sleek along the path of his cock that it was painful to move slowly, so desperate to shove deeper. But he pushed higher, inch by inch as he toyed gently with her breasts and whispered in her ear in his deepest, most blackly persuasive voice. “My beautiful girl. Let me in now, open for me. Won’t it feel so good once I’m inside you all the way, hilted up into this perfect kitty? Stretching you wide for me?” Thomas’s control slipped for a moment and he groaned as she spasmed against him, his filthy whispers forcing her into a little, tremoring orgasm. “Ah. There’s my good girl, coming for Daddy so nicely. Let’s see if you can do this again. Come, baby. Spread wide for Daddy…”

Isobel sank her teeth into the thick muscle of his shoulder, trying to keep from screaming. It hurt, more than she expected because she felt swollen inside, the tender tissue of her cunt feeling every scrape of him, every vein and bump of his cock pressing against a thousand tiny nerves. But her heels went up against the flexing muscles of his ass, suddenly pushing in and moaning against the corresponding drive of him higher inside her, so high that it felt like Thomas’s shaft had speared through her channel and into her belly. His corresponding grunt made her shiver as her new husband paused, forehead against hers as he panted, trying to regain control.

“Don’t be greedy, little girl. I’ll take care of you. But you are too sweet and tight for me to do this quickly.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Isobel groaned, “please, Daddy, please go faster.”

She sighed in relief when his lean hips began moving against her more quickly, gradually speeding up until his scrotum was slapping against her bottom, the space between her thighs wet with slick, and sweat and his precum. They ground and moaned against each other, hands slipping and grabbing against sweaty skin as they pushed towards a finish together. As they slammed together one last time, Thomas gripped her hands over her head with one of his, the other sliding between their writhing centers to rub against her painfully swollen clit. And as Isobel wailed her relief and her pleasure, Thomas groaned, kissing against her neck and telling her he loved her in harsh whispers.

Isobel was flattened against the lush mattress, glistening breasts heaving with the effort of trying to catch her breath. “That was...Daddy…”

“Hmmm…” his mouth was against the sensitive skin of her jaw, making her shiver a little. “My delicious, juicy princess. This cunt is heaven.” Thomas grinned luridly as he heard Isobel’s shocked little gasp. “But I think I have shortchanged you.”

She looked up at him, her smooth cheekbone rubbing against his. “Daddy?”

Rolling Isobel over on her back again, Thomas settled on his elbows over her. “That was only two, darling. I believe I will require one orgasm from you for every night we were apart.” Bending his head to take one sensitive nipple gently between his teeth, Thomas tickled it with the tip of his tongue, enjoying her startled squeal. “I wonder if I can get you to finish with only playing with these ripe breasts?” Isobel could feel the vibrations of his chuckle through her stiffened nipple. “I believe I can. Hold on to me, there’s a good girl…”

 


	32. "He's Planning Something."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas and Isobel find that true love and a baby on the way are not enough to protect them from the Corporation's interests.

 

When Thomas opened the door to Morris the following morning, Isobel could actually feel the warmth and intimacy between them pop like an utterly dismal balloon. Taking a deep breath, she schooled her emotions to close off, forcing herself to remember some of the things Mary Margaret told her to solidify the dread forming in her expression. Opening her eyes to see Morris's keen gaze upon her, she gave a weak smile.

"Good morning, Morris."

Thomas was busy looking through some papers, perfectly suited in a navy pinstripe and a crisp white shirt. He didn't look up as Isobel and her bodyguard exchanged greetings. "I'll be in meetings until this evening, darling. Why don't you have Morris take you around to some of your old haunts?"

"Yes, Thomas." His eyes darted up over his paperwork at her resigned tone, though his chest swelled with pride at his doll's ability to keep in character. With a perfunctory kiss, he was gone.

There was an awkward silence as Isobel shifted from foot to foot, aware that Morris was likely checking her for injury. "I thought...I thought we could go downtown," she finally offered. 

"Of course, Miss Cameron."

They ended up near the seafront in a little cafe called the Espy. Morris looked doubtfully at the wildly mismatched sofas and stacks of board games, but he unbent enough to consume a small portion of excellent eggs on toast as Isobel carefully went through her breakfast. Her pregnancy self ("there's a baby, we're pregnant we're going to have a baby!" that little voice chimed in again) craved some foods and violently rejected others. And to her dismay, it was not always certain which was which until she was forced to make a speedy trip to the bathroom. From there, she insisted they take a walk along the seawall, Isobel blissfully breathing in the salt-tainted mist as Morris dabbed at his face with a handkerchief.

"I don't know if I've ever seen anyone- outside of books, I mean- who actually carried a cloth handkerchief," Isobel observed playfully.

Morris fixed her with a faintly disapproving stare, which would be the equivalent of someone else being outraged enough to throw a punch. "A gentleman always carries the necessities, Miss Cameron."

Isobel smiled, wrapping her scarf a little tighter. It was definitely early summer in Scotland- which was to say teeth-chatteringly cold. "And what are such necessities, Morris?"

"Whatever is required, Miss Cameron."

Still feeling a little playful, she teased back, "What are those required items, Morris?"

This time, his tone was flat. "Anything required to keep you safe, Miss Cameron." Shooting a glance at her grey shadow, Isobel shivered a little at the expression on his face. 

Impulsively touching his suited arm lightly, she said, "Then I'll try to keep out of trouble, Morris."

To her utter shock, he reached out one hand and patted hers, still on his arm. The two walked on in silence.

 

Thomas’s POV:

The meeting was interminable. He’d expected that, of course, even planned on it. Because he’d carefully arranged a deal where there was simply no middle ground, just two angry clients both demanding what the other refused to give. No matter how much that bastard Strong attempted to soothe them, Thomas knew the anger and resentment would only continue to rise. Just as he’d planned.

Watching the opposite sides of the table bicker, his thoughts went back to his precious doll, watching her sleep that morning as the sun finally crept across their rumpled sheets to illuminate her beautiful face. A strange, humbling emotion nearly strangled him, wondering how she’d kept that innate purity- her willingness to love- despite everything that had happened ("everything you’ve _done_ to her," a nasty voice reminded him.) As the sunlight finally crossed her face, those remarkable green eyes- green as seawater, green as the Nile- opened, searching briefly before finding him on his side next to her, head resting on his bent arm.

“Good morning, love.” Thomas tried to repress an utterly foolish surge of joy to see her smile at him. “How do you feel?” Raising her arms above her head, Isobel stretched happily.

“I feel wonderful, husband.” For a moment, her smile slipped just a bit, wondering if he regretted the night before. Thomas quickly picked up her left hand, kissing each knuckle, then turning it over to kiss the tip of each finger, lingering over the heavy silver weight of her wedding ring.

“Hmmm…” he grunted. “I’ll replace my father’s ring. if you like, with a magnificent, offensively large diamond as soon as we can be open…” He trailed off, trying to picture when such a thing could happen.

Isobel saved Thomas from his restless thoughts. “I would rather keep this ring, if that’s all right. Maybe fitted to my finger?” She laughed, daringly rolling on top of him. Thomas shifted his hips, settling her weight between them, pulling her tumbling hair out of her eyes. “Though, maybe I’ll be huge with this baby- so swollen that my sausage fingers can barely fit the ring…” She giggled a little, clearly delighted by the idea.

Idly bouncing his hips up, Thomas smiled at her startled yelp. “I can imagine these lovely breasts, all full and swollen with milk, your pink tips tinged white...mmmm…” he enjoyed her little whimper as his purring tone made her skin erupt with goosebumps. 

Putting his lips to one nipple, he sucked hard, enjoying her corresponding groan of pleasure. “I will have to taste you, darling, suckle some of that sweet milk from you.” Thomas grinned against her pink areola, feeling it tighten against his lips. His voice deepened then, the voice of Satan luring her into something deeply carnal. “I would imagine, little girl, that if I sucked like so-” He paused as Isobel yelped again, “your tender clit would swell, seeking the same kind of attention your juicy breast was enjoying.” His hand slid down her belly, carefully slicking one, then two fingers in her wet center, trapping her clit between them. “Your beautiful round, ripe body surging against my hand and mouth…” Thomas felt her hands slide through his hair, clenching a little as he sucked a bit harder. “That sweet kitty for my amusement, then for our child…” He tugged on her fleshy pearl again, a bit harder than was comfortable, but knowing his lovely doll would be making those delicious noises, sweet whimpers and pleading little gasps that told him he shouldn’t stop. Though Thomas, first and last, always preferred being on top of his lovely doll when they came, this time, he simply lifted her hips and inserted the thick tip of him into her. 

"Go ahead and move, sweetness. Take what you want from Daddy."

And, Isobel did. Grinding and moaning, bouncing and laughing a little, she greedily encased her dark lover's cock inside her, moving her hips in circles, enjoying his groans. She was a little giddy with the power she felt over Thomas, arching and clenching down to make him moan louder, to hold on to her hips a little tighter. 

For Thomas, it was almost surreal, seeing his submissive angel grinding away on him, gasping as she pushed her clit against the hairy base of his cock, her tight channel clutching his shaft as she rose and fell with his help. His breath caught for a moment as he experienced a moment of deja vu- he'd once had a powerful image of the woman above him- not a girl, not a doll- but a grown woman confidently taking her orgasm and giving him his. At the time, Thomas had shrugged it off as an unrealistic thought. His Isobel came on _his_ command, not hers. But this vision above him, her rosy flush rising up the creamy skin of her breasts and neck- that was the result of the child he'd taken, the life they'd had together, and Isobel's own, innate strength and goodness. With a genuine shock that nearly made him go flaccid, Thomas realized that it was his lovely doll's goodness that he'd fallen in love with first- not the murky, submissive pleasures of her body.

“Thomas…” she moaned, “Daddy...I need to come, please?”

Brought back to the carnality of the moment with a rush, Thomas growled, “Now, little one, come for Daddy like a good girl. And you are my very good girl, aren’t you?” And as if on cue, Isobel’s long, lovely back arched and she moaned, her sweetness pouring over his cock and scrotum, and down their thighs. This helplessly sparked Thomas into his finish, and he pulled her down, holding his Isobel tightly in his arms, mindlessly rocking her back and forth.

“ _Such_ a good girl…”

Coming back to the present and the hostile board meeting without a twitch, Thomas calmly answered a question from the Yakuza representative. What he did miss was the sinister gaze of Number One, watching the most repellent thing a Corporation executive could show: softness.

 

Thomas and Isobel boarded the jet headed for home, this time accompanied by the other two members of the Corporation's management team. While Harding was deliberately affable and pleasant, Strong simply sat in his leather seat and stared. His unnatural stillness easily unnerved Isobel, but even Thomas found himself rapidly sorting through a catalog of scenarios that would cause Number One to behave in this way. No matter what was going through the twisted mind of the head of the Corporation, he must be ready to counter. His family- his wife and child were seated next to him, carefully cowed and rarely speaking, sensing the tension in the jet's cabin. No matter what happened, she must be kept safe.

To Isobel's shock and humiliation, Thomas suddenly pulled her from her seat with a leer, guiding her to the single bathroom while Vanta Black- as she called him- rolled his midnight eyes and scoffed. It was obvious that Thomas was planning a "mile high club" scenario, and even Number Three was smirking. Shutting the door, Thomas pressed up against her.

"Shhh...darling. Not a word." His whisper was so faint she could barely hear it over the loud rustling of the clothes he was removing from her body. “Listen to me carefully. Something is off.” Thomas winced as Isobel’s body stiffened. “When you get to the flat, there is a safe under the shoe rack in our closet. The code is ZM-1136. There’s cash inside and passports for us and Ari. If something happens-”

“Thomas!” She moaned, breathing the words into his ear, “What’s gone wrong? What do you see?”

Thomas clenched his hand in her thick hair, the cool, silky strands somehow calming him. “I’m not certain. But Strong...he’s planning something.”

 

The "something" made itself known when the Lear jet landed and they walked down the stairs to a single car. 

"Where's Morris?" Thomas frowned, "I'll need him to take Isobel home."

The girl forced herself to conceal a shudder when Number One suddenly smiled at Thomas, his grin as wide as a shark's. 

"There's been a change in plans, my boy. We must meet at the estate with the Venezuelans. This issue requires...immediate attention. I'm sure your little whore will be fine, waiting for a day or so." Horribly, his focus moved to Isobel's set, white face. "It's not as if you have anything better to do, correct?"

Isobel swallowed down her screams, looking back levelly. "No, Mr. Strong. My time belongs to Thomas."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things get a little, uh, intense for the next couple of chapters. If you're triggered by violence, you might want to skip them. But as always, I HAVE A PLAN.


	33. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas and Isobel have no one they can trust- perhaps even including each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story updates will come faster, now that I've recovered from our sunscreen and dubstep-drenched week at Burning Man. I can almost string a complete sentence together. I know, you're so proud.
> 
> OH!!!!! Misreall has an exquisitely hot new story that has managed to add two more kinks to my ever expanding kink list. It's Jotunn Loki ruling Midgard. We're in the middle of the wedding night on chapter four, and I've just added Horn Kink to my list...dear god, that woman is pure EVIL. Have a look here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11897298/chapters/26875554

 

Entering the mansion as he loomed over her, Thomas could see Isobel was shocked to realize how many people were already there. Bustling waitstaff, Venezuelan and Yakuza flunkies, and several scantily dressed women wearing far too much makeup for the middle of the day were moving around the massive estate. Thomas took her arm and moved Isobel to the stairs. He saw her mouth open and barely shook his head, pleased to see her lips compress immediately, with an expressionless face that didn't betray her fear and turmoil. He discussed meeting times and requirements with the two groups in an indifferent tone as they made their way to his suite. As the heavy oak door closed, his doll drew a deep breath, but Thomas put one long finger to his lips.

"How long will this take?" Her tone was polite, but slightly bored and petulant.

He could not have been more proud of Isobel in that moment. Thomas knew she was terrified and he had felt her shaking slightly all the way up the stairs, but she only nodded and pulled a book from her bag, rapidly writing in the margins.

"...Why don't you nap, darling," he answered indifferently, craning his neck to see what she'd written, "these kinds of negotiations can be interminable."

Isobel wrote: "Strong knows, doesn't he?"

Gritting his teeth and furious that he'd missed something, some small detail that roused Number One's suspicions, Thomas took the pen and answered her. "He suspects something. But to what extent, I don't know. You must be very brave for me." The region of his chest where a heart might reside actually convulsed with pain when his doll's huge green eyes rose to his, glistening with tears she didn't dare shed as Isobel nodded yes.

 

  
"Why this change in plans, Number One? I've been working this deal for over a year- negotiations have never been at a more delicate state!" His tone was sharp, but Thomas still managed to make the query sound polite as he narrowed his eyes at the bald-headed man lounging at the head of the table.

"That, my dear boy, is part of the concern," Strong answered, smiling down the table in an avuncular fashion. "Given your speed in putting these sorts of deals together, this long impasse seems very unlike you. Especially with two volatile clients who are perfectly happy with a 'scorched earth' solution...that would include us." The man leaned forward then, the light from the huge, Tudor-style windows glinting off his shaved skull. "I begin to feel this deal requires a firmer hand."

"Such as yours?" Snarled Thomas, leaning back and still looking cool and unruffled. "Now, why would that be, I wonder? Are your Numbers Two and Three becoming a bit of a concern? Perhaps...too invested in the Corporation for your liking?"

Harding, who'd been lounging midway between the two at the table and idly cleaning his nails with a switchblade, looked up suddenly, his deep sable eyes alert. "Now, Williams, don't throw me into this little squabble. My department's operation runs quite smoothly."

Chuckling mirthlessly, Thomas leaned forward. "Ah, then the Matrix Fortunes bid Number One took from your supervision would not count, then. Or another six I can think of just in the last year?" He knew he was getting to Harding, the man's shrewd gaze travelling between his two senior executives.

“Enough!” Strong’s voice was sharp, harsh enough to make the gaze of the other two to return to him. “This is the most lucrative deal that I can remember in the Corporation’s history. You will both think of solutions that will please both parties. And you will not. Fuck. This. Up.” His Vantablack gaze glimmered in satisfaction, knowing their attention was fixed solely on him. “You’re dismissed. Dinner is at eight.”

 

Dinner was the nightmare both Thomas and Isobel expected it be. Along with the sullen gloom from both angry parties, there was an uncomfortable tangle of whores, bodyguards bristling with weapons and a group of dark-suited men that Isobel realized, with a chill, that she'd seen hovering around certain Corporation events where she suspected some untimely end. But why they were here, hovering on _their_ side of the table sent a chill up her backside. Exactly _who_ were they targeting here? It was like looking at the room through new eyes, Isobel thought bleakly as she tried to swallow a bite of chicken without gagging. Those men were here to do- what did they call it in the movies? Wet work? The shooting, the stabbing- the chicken nearly came back up and she raised a napkin to her lips, aware of Thomas's carefully indifferent stare. Isobel kept her gaze on her plate, looking up to smile politely and answer questions when placed to her, appearing for all the world like the dutiful and demure girlfriend to the infamous Number Two. The laughing got louder as the dinner dragged on and the wine and Saki continued to flow. Isobel took a tiny sip of wine, but raised the glass to her lips every now and then. The last thing they needed was questions about why she wasn't drinking.

True to form, the men were all ignoring the females at the table as they talked business. So Isobel watched the women, picking up scraps of Spanish, Japanese and French from the brightly made up creatures as they chattered about “presents from gentlemen,” and the costs of keeping up their attractiveness as long as possible. The girl was startled out of her people-watching as a shrill cry came from the Venezuelan side of the table, where the new CEO of their company was chastising his “date,” by squeezing her arm viciously as she tried not to cry. Involuntarily, Isobel half-rose from her chair, only to be halted instantly by Thomas’s hand on the back of her neck. He barely shook his head at her, but the message was clear.

The Venezuelan irritably took another gulp of his brandy. “Stupid girl,” he groused, “these new ones, never as well-trained as the product you used to send out, Strong. A pity you moved out of whoring.”

Number One chuckled indulgently. “Not quite, Mr Pallares, we still keep some of our own, bought and paid for. Like Williams’s little princess here.” There was a short silence as everyone processed the extraordinary rudeness from Strong to his powerful second in command. Isobel felt all the blood drain from her face, leaving behind two red patches on her cheekbones.

Thomas was leaning back in his chair, indolently swirling his glass of Jameson, leaving no clue of the bombshell Number One had dropped. “What can I say, gentlemen?” He purred, “You get what you pay for.”

Isobel heard the loud, ugly laughter echoing around the table and gritted her teeth, desperately trying not to empty the meager contents of her stomach on the pristine white tablecloth.

 

“What did that mean, Thomas?” Isobel was rapidly pacing back and forth in the room, unconsciously rubbing her flat abdomen. She'd tried to pull out her notebook again, but he'd waved her off. He'd swept the room and found no listening or video devices- at least, nothing his digital block wasn't currently rendering inoperable.

“What are you talking about?” He was pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to regain some calm after nearly going across the table and tearing Strong’s throat out.

Isobel stopped in front of him. “When they were laughing at me, when Strong called me ‘bought and paid for.’ What did he mean?”

"Darling- " Thomas sighed irritably, knowing this was important, but so consumed with trying to figure out how to get Isobel safely away that his patience was in short supply. 

"What did my parents sell me for?" She suddenly asked, refusing to move as he stared down at her. "Is that what the Corporation did? To other girls? Buy and sell them?"

Thomas growled, "You are nothing like those girls- nothing! Do you really need to know? Yes, the Corporation was involved in prostitution rings for several years before I moved us away and further into the financial acquisitions. Much cleaner work."

 

"Cleaner-" scoffed Isobel furiously, " _cleaner?_ You were involved in human sex trafficking? I was listening to those girls- they've been taken from all over the place! Was that why it was so easy to- to-" The words dried up in her throat. She didn't want to know just how easy it was for her new husband to simply hijack her life after giving her greedy parents the thing they craved more- money.

"Yes! Yes, Isobel!" Thomas bit out. "That's exactly why I knew what it would take to convince Bridget and Alistair to give you to me. Those greedy scum were quite easy to convince..." His angry retort died off as Isobel stared at him in horror, swaying a bit.

"How much?" She whispered. "What the closing bid on my virginity? On my life?"

Thomas sighed, exhausted. "Darling-"

"HOW. MUCH. Thomas?"

Growling he snarled back, "Twelve million pounds! Are you happier now, knowing this? And it was a bargain! You were a bargain because I would have paid anything to have you as mine!" His beautiful face twisted in regret as he watched his sweet doll drop to a chair bonelessly, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

“Magnolia’s father…” she said slowly, looking down at her hands in her lap. “Your...mentor, correct?”

Thomas’s brow furrowed, and he leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. “Yes.”

His sweet doll looked up then, and her seafoam green eyes were suddenly the sheen of late winter ice. “He killed your father. Didn’t he?”

 

Thomas’s mind had never moved more rapidly, a laser-like frenzy of focus on one contingency, then another. He had to get Isobel out of here. Send her to Tuscany, to Ari and Simja, she’d be safe there while he gutted Strong with his sharpest blade, staring deeply into those shark-like black pupils of his. They’d talked- heatedly at times- until Isobel finally cried herself to sleep. Quickly opening the hidden floor safe and pulling out several thick bundles of cash, Thomas stuffed them into Isobel’s carry-on bag and then opened his phone, dialing the number by heart.

"Morris? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mr. Williams. I am terribly sorry to have been an inconvenience." His employee's calm and well-bred tone made Thomas heave a sudden, shuddering sigh.

"I thought they'd- never mind. I need you here, at the estate. We must- you must- get Isobel out of here and to safety." There was a sudden chill that Thomas swore he could feel pouring through the glass screen of the cell phone.

"Have they hurt Miss Cameron?"

Thomas rubbed his forehead, exhausted. "No. But she is in danger. Strong- I believe he intends to use her as a hostage for my compliance."

"Of course," Morris was a calm and composed as always, but there was a thin sheen of menace now that coated his crisp delivery. "I have been detained by various Corporate employees, for reasons that now seem obvious. I shall be there within the hour."

"Very good." Thomas was rapidly deleting his hard drive on his laptop and throwing flash drives into the flame in the beautiful, tiled 18th century fireplace. "Don't come to my suite. Park your car in the back lot- as close to the entrance as possible. There is a flat shed door that leads to the old coal cellar in the basement. There is a passage there- I can get Isobel out of here without being seen." There was a faint "click" as he was speaking, and Thomas knew Morris was arming himself.

"A sound plan, sir. I shall text you on your coded cell as I arrive."

Thomas blew out an embarrassingly loud sigh of relief as he slumped against the walnut wainscoting. As long as Isobel was safe...

 

Isobel woke to her new husband placing sweet kisses all over her face, his lips smoothing away the dried tear-tracks on her cheeks. 

"Wake up, love. It's time." Thomas was leaning over her with an utterly uncharacteristic look of tenderness on his face. She smiled at his expression, remembering the same look on his cautious 15 year old face in the old photos.

"Are we leaving?" She asked, trying to struggle upright in her exhaustion, rubbing the back of her neck.

Thomas smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, love. I'm getting you out of here." He was proud of her- his beautiful wife. Isobel rapidly dressed, taking the carry-on bag from him and strapping it over her chest, messenger bag style. Silently, he opened the door to the hallway, aware of staying clear from the surveillance cameras.

"This way, love."

Isobel moved rapidly after him, Thomas's hand not letting go of hers and a gun equipped with a silencer gripped in his other. They could hear the noise of the party- drunken laughter, the squeals of the escorts and the loud, intoxicated boasting from both the Yakuza and Venezuelan groups. He was grateful for the noise, knowing it was covering their footsteps as they headed through the tiled corridor of the kitchen and pantry. The girl's mouth dropped open when Thomas tapped a panel in the wall and a door opened silently. "Just like James Bond," she thought a little dazedly, trying not to giggle. Pulling her through the panel and carefully closing it behind them, Thomas flicked on his iPhone, illuminating the dark space and rapidly texting with his thumb as he guided her along. "Morris will be waiting on the other side," he explained, smiling down at her in a distracted way. He's taking you to Tuscany- with your brother and Simja."

Her footsteps slowed as Isobel processed this information. "Wait. You said he's taking me. What about you? You're coming with us, Thomas- you have to! It's not safe for you here!"

As she tried to slow his rapid progression, Isobel could see another door open on the other side, the light of the moon and the stark LED illumination of the back lot shining through. She bit back a gasp as a shadow stepped into the frame, blocking out the light, then heaved a sigh of relief. Morris.

“Glad you’re all right,” was all Thomas said, but he grasped the suited forearm of the other man tightly, smiling in relief.

“Quite, sir,” soothed Morris, taking Isobel’s heavy bag in one hand and solicitously holding her elbow in the other. “Miss Cameron? We need to leave quickly.”

Isobel dug in her heels, looking frantically between the two men. “No! Not without Thomas! It’s not safe here, Morris! They could hurt him-”

Her objections were rapidly overridden when a bullet chipped chunks of concrete off the wall next to them, all of them ducking. Thomas fired back rapidly, watching two men blocking the light from the house entrance to the basement fall. "Go, Morris. They can't send in more than one or two at a time. I can hold them while you get Isobel out of here."

"Nononono..." she moaned, trying to hold on to his free hand while Morris pulled her away.

"Go, Isobel! I will see you soon!" Thomas tried to temper his shouting by kissing Isobel's shaking mouth. He turned back, squeezing off another shot and smiling grimly at the corresponding howl of another Corporation flunky dropping like a bag of rocks. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the shapes of his doll and Morris, still standing there. "Morris! Take her- go on-"

"Now, Mr Williams. It's time for you to stand down." His blood turned to ice as Thomas turned, polar eyes widening as he saw a rigid Isobel, Morris's gun pressed firmly against her temple and his grey suited arm hard over her chest. "You don't want anything to happen to Miss Cameron, do you?"

 

Really, thought Thomas as his head flew back against another vicious punch to the jaw. The irony would almost be amusing if he wasn't busy hating himself for being so _stupid_ \- so _trusting_. At what point in this last 20 years had he become so soft as to trust _anyone_ in the poisonous landscape of the Corporation? He'd recruited Morris himself- paid his bonuses, made sure he was comfortable and had plenty of money to care for his estranged daughter. Spitting blood from the corner of his mouth, Thomas jeered at himself. As if that was enough. As if it meant anything. He had to admit, though, while he knew Morris was Special Forces in the military, he was surprised at how well the bastard could still pack quite a surprisingly excruciating punch. After he'd turned to see the treacherous bastard holding a struggling Isobel with a gun shoved to her skull, Thomas had dropped his own weapon immediately.

He forced a smile for her as she fought furiously against Morris. “No, darling. No fighting. Don’t give him an excuse. I’ll be fine. Just go back to our suite, all right? I’ll see you soon.” Thomas knew perfectly well he wouldn’t be seeing his wife- the mother of his child and the only thing good in his life- ever again. But as long as she didn’t see _this._ A groan forced from his mouth as the next fist used brass knuckles to tear through his rib cage, shattering the bones on impact. Distantly. he felt something tear inside.

“Why, Morris,” he croaked, “I didn’t know you had it in you, you old bastard.”

The blood splattered man before him was expressionless, not wearing his suit jacket for the first time in Thomas’s memory, white shirt sleeves rolled up to show old military tattoos and numerous scars. Morris’s hands were bloody- but with Thomas’s, not his own. There was no question that the younger man would have brutally crushed Morris in a fair fight, but the minute he gave up his gun, Thomas knew it would be nothing of the sort. He was handcuffed- hands behind his back, ankles to a stout wooden chair- in the middle of one of the stone basement rooms, perhaps an old larder, since it was very cold. The pain was agonizing, but Thomas had dealt with many a brutal beating as he rose in the ranks of the Corporation- before the Savile Row suits and the beautiful cars. But then, at least, he could always fight back. He was simply a bag of meat now, and the excruciating effort to draw a breath told him that not only were his ribs broken, but Morris's vicious fists had likely popped a lung- perhaps both. Gritting his teeth at a kick to his kidneys that knocked the heavy wooden chair over, Thomas focused on the beautiful face of his lovely doll- his Isobel. He was certain she could fight her way out when Simja arrived to fetch her. There were always contingency plans for other contingency plans, after all. And Isobel's advantage was a sweet and gentle nature that belied her ability to deliver a vicious punch. Even lying broken on the chilly stone floor, Thomas's cock tried to rise, thinking about the outrageously sexy way Isobel dispatched the idiot thugs in the alley that night. She'd get out. A pained howl suddenly broke from his lips as Morris's steel-toed shoe slammed into the thin bone covering his temple. It was harder to think now, to see. So Thomas was sure he was hallucinating when the door opened and Simja, the grim-faced Israeli paratrooper dragged Isobel into the room, holding her back as Isobel lunged for him, screaming and holding out her hands in a desperate attempt to touch him. "Thomas- oh, God! What have you DONE to him! You Judas! Morris, you evil bastard! Let me touch...let me..." Thomas's bloodied eyes drooped closed, trying to reach for his sweet Isobel with his bound hands.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. You hate me. But I HAVE A PLAN.


	34. "Just Like Dear Magnolia"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel must save the world. Or...at least her corner of it.

Isobel could vaguely sense that both Morris and Simja were speaking- interrupting each other and raising their voices to be heard over her sobs, but their words didn't make sense- just moving lips on a body blocking her from reaching the broken, battered form of her husband. Finally, she managed to control herself to turn her fury back on to Morris. "How _could_ you! How could you do this to him!"

The utterly impassive expression of her bodyguard suddenly displayed expression for the first time in the four years he'd been watching over her- a white-hot fury that twisted his face into something unrecognizable. "You fell in love with him! You were not meant to love him! You were a _good_ girl!"

She shook her head, confused and still trying to pull against Simja's implacable hold to reach a bloody and unconscious Thomas. 

"This is not the time to try to reason with her, Morris." Isobel thrashed harder against the Israeli woman's grip. "She is hysterical. Mr. Strong instructed me to send you up with a report."

Morris sniffed, wiping his bloody hands with a snowy-white handkerchief. "He doesn't want Williams dead yet?" Isobel began sobbing again, still disbelieving that the last two people she trusted would both betray Thomas so horribly.

Shrugging, Simja intoned, "The president of the Corporation did not see fit to give me a detailed timeline. I was to bring the girl down to see him...chastened. I will hold her here until given new instructions." Sighing irritably, she tightened her hold on the furiously thrashing girl, putting Isobel into a headlock that was beginning to cut off her air supply.

Morris stared at them both as he straightened his tie. "Very well."

 

As the heavy oak door slammed behind him, a surge of fury rose like Isobel had never felt before, and snapping her head back quickly, she nailed the older woman- hard- on her cheekbone. As Simja's grip loosened, the girl slammed her heel down on the sensitive top of her captor's foot, enjoying the hiss of pain as her elbow rounded back to Simja's throat, dropping The girl from her grasp completely. A ragged laugh flew out of Isobel's mouth at the irony of SImja, being the one to teach her now getting the beating the Israeli was currently defending against. One strong leg shot out in a graceful twirl and slung Simja right off her feet, the woman landing on her back on the hard stone floor with a painful "oof!" All the girl could think of was to hurt her- the punish her for betraying Thomas and-

"Well done, Isobel." Simja's voice was faint, coming out of her bruised throat. "I am most pleased to know you took our lessons to heart-" she paused, coughing painfully and swiping at her bloody mouth. "-but if you wish to save Thomas, you must listen to me now. He sent for me, wanting to make sure he had a backup plan for you. We can get him out of here."

Isobel's fist was so clenched that the skin over her knuckles nearly split open, but the strike she was ready to deliver wavered. 

"What do you mean? I swear I will kill you if-"

"Hush!" The Israel hissed, painfully sitting up. "I have a replacement for Thomas- a lower-level assassin for the Corporation who will pass well enough. We must get him in here and your man out. Mary Margaret is waiting outside to help him. She will take him to a friend's house up the coast."

Isobel choked down a sob. "Tell me what to do."

 

It was more than just mildly gruesome. The hapless killer Simja had selected was perfect- the same height, similar build and coloring as Thomas. And, as Isobel noticed, trying to hold back a dry heave, brutally beaten within an inch of his life, his features unrecognizable. Gagging as she tried to speak, the girl leaned down to grab his arms, helping to lift him into the waiting wheelchair as Simja hurried their macabre procession back down the hall and into the room where Thomas huddled on the cold floor. The broken duplicate made a sickening wet sound as he flopped to the floor next to Thomas. 

"Help me switch out their clothes." Simja was already pulling off the other man's bloody sweater as Isobel's shaking hands began to unbutton Thomas's shirt.

Stirring and coughing with a sound of something torn, Thomas managed, "Is..." 

"Oh, god!" She sobbed, leaning in to kiss his battered mouth, "Thomas-"

"Both of you hush!" Snapped Simja. "We have perhaps 10 minutes to make this transfer before Morris returns!"

Isobel looked up. "So Morris is a traitor?"

The older woman nodded grimly, forcing the sweater over Thomas's head. "Now listen! We can get Thomas out of here. But only if you stay behind."

Groaning, Thomas gasped out, "Don't you dare disobey my instructions-" he coughed again, the wet sound terrifying Isobel.

"What do you mean?" She asked, still rapidly unzipping her new husband's pants and trying to pull them off carefully, flinching at his pained groan.

The transfer of clothing was nearly complete and the Israeli dropped the other man's head, indifferent to the slushy-sounding smack as it hit the floor. "Both the Yakuza and the Venezuelans are here. The chemical weapons for bid are here as well. You can end this- all of it. Your family will be safe."

Helping to pull Thomas into the wheelchair, Isobel tried to stop her hands from shaking. "Thomas's end game," she nodded, "the finish to the Corporation, and their most dangerous competitors."

His blue eyes opened in that beautiful, bloody face. "How did you-"

Her breath hitched and she started crying again. "Your password is 'BeautifulIsobel.' Tell me what to do."

 

Fortunately, they had a good 17 minutes before Morris returned, enough time to get Thomas into the car, enough time to stop the loop of an empty hallway on the security cameras and enough time for Isobel to slump bonelessly next to the broken body of the man taking her husband's place. When her former bodyguard returned, he was trailed by the two surviving senior managers at the Corporation. Strong folded his arms and smiled benignly down at her, her white hand placed on the still chest of the bloody man beside her. Isobel wouldn't look at him, but a sharp intake of breath from Harding drew her gaze. 

"What the _hell_ , Number One! Is he dead?" It was clear that Tom had no idea what he'd be finding here, and his brown eyes looked down at Isobel's sheet-white face with pity.

Irritably straightening a cuff, Strong scoffed, "Don't act so shocked. Williams was behind all the instability in the last year." His black sneer went to Isobel. “Were you two hoping to make off with the majority of the Corporation’s assets, dear?”

Her pale eyes narrowed. “How dare you betray Thomas! He’s been nothing but loyal to you- you sick bastard! He needs-” Isobel furiously bit back a sob, “he needs a doctor!”

The older man ignored her, hitching his trouser leg to kneel by the beaten body on the floor. “You were always so clever, son,” he said fondly, “aside from a few key facts.” He leaned closer, his bald head gleaming in the dim light. “I was the one who ordered your pathetic father shot. Not your mentor,” Strong sneered, “but I did appreciate you disposing of him for me. Bloody American upstart- thinking he could give me orders? It was easy enough to make it look like he'd ordered the hit on your dear old da. And you'd been so very persistent in finding the truth."

To Isobel's horror, the broken man began to stir a bit, groaning. What if he spoke? Oh, god-

Strong stood again fastidiously wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "You were such a good lieutenant for so long, Thomas. Such a loyal man, an excellent killer even from your first at such a tender age, sixteen. You enjoyed your work, certainly. So many dead bodies, they do pile up, don't they, looking back? Then this girl made you _soft_ ," he spat, looking malevolently at Isobel, who hissed at him like a cat, "so really, she deserves the blame for this." Number One pulled the gun from his jacket so swiftly that it took the muffled thud of the bullet hitting the man's head to make Isobel realize what happened.

"What have you done!" She screamed, feeling the blood spray against her cheek and clothing. "What have you DONE!"

The smiling monster didn't spare a glance for her as he handed the weapon to Morris and left the room, calling for Harding to follow. Number Two paused for a moment, leaning down to touch Isobel gently on the shoulder. "Take her back to their- her suite. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Morris stepped forward first, but the girl lashed out furiously against his reaching hand. “Don’t you touch me, you monster! Don’t you dare touch me ever again!”

Simja sighed, stepping in. “Allow me, Morris. No reason to make more of a fuss at this point.” Isobel’s former bodyguard stepped back, watching her rise to her feet, shaking and staring at him with hatred. She walked unsteadily from the room, angrily jerking her arm away when Simja attempted to steady her. The huge house was surprisingly quiet as they walked through the halls, but both women were silent until they reached the rooms that housed Thomas and Isobel the night before. 

Slumping on the bed, she tried to stop shaking as she watched the Israeli run a quick sweep to make sure no new recording devices had been put in the suite since they’d left.

Finally, Simja stopped and pulled a chair up to the bed, sinking on to it and taking Isobel’s bloody hand. “You did well. You are very brave.”

Shuddering, Isobel said, “All I can think about is that poor man could have been Thomas, that Vantablack could have murdered him, just like-”

“What did you call him?” Simja was perplexed.

Isobel laughed bitterly. “The first time I met him was at the Corporation, with Thomas. Those horrible black eyes, like an insect’s. Vantablack.”

“Very accurate,” Simja nodded. She bent her head to look closely at the girl's blank face. "Did you know... did you know that Thomas was a killer? An assassin for the Corporation?"

Some of the dried blood on Isobel's face was beginning to flake and she absently rubbed at it. "Yes. His sister- Mary Margaret told me. It was the final straw when she found out what he was doing. It's why she would never have anything to do with him."

Sighing, Simja pulled her to her feet. "Can you still do this, Isobel? Are you strong enough?"

The girl stared back at her. "I have to be strong enough. There's no other way."

 

Numbly stepping into the shower, Isobel watched the blood of her husband and the anonymous man who'd given his life unknowingly to save Thomas sluice down the drain as she mechanically washed her face and hair. Thomas had argued with them until the blood in his throat made him stop as they carefully lifted him into the car where Mary Margaret sat, silent and alert behind the wheel. 

"Doan' Is..." he managed staring up at her, his hand keeping a surprisingly strong grip on hers. 

Gently pulling away, Isobel kissed his wet mouth. "I have to. You carried it this far, I'll take it to the end. Then we'll all be safe." Her eyes raised to Mary Margaret's cobalt gaze, so like her brother's. "Don't let him d..." Her mouth opened and closed, but she couldn't finish the sentence.

Nodding, Mary Margaret started the car. "I won't. Go, now. Be safe."

Swooping in, Isobel kissed Thomas one last time. "I love you. Please hold on- please." She thought he might have passed out again, but she felt him squeeze her hand once more before the door shut and the little car moved off silently. Shaking her head, Isobel forced herself to focus on the present and began blowdrying her hair. She had to look beautiful now, polished. Confident.

When Harding finally knocked on the door, Isobel was sitting in a chair by the fire, wearing a black suit that fitted her beautifully, hair swept up and what looked like an ill-fitted wedding ring on her finger. Kneeling before her, he took her limp hands in his. "I am so sorry, Isobel," he said gravely, "I did not know."

This was a lie, Isobel knew. She'd seen enough of Thomas's excellent note-taking to know Number Three was very much in favor of the Corporation's move back into chemical weaponry. While he may not have known her husband was going to be killed, he certainly wouldn't have argued against it. 

After all, she thought bitterly, he was Number Two, now.

Forcing herself to smile wanly, Isobel brushed at her watery eyes. "Thank you, Tom. Will- will you help me?"

Harding melted. Her huge green eyes, pale as sea water, looked up into his, as sweet as the first day he'd seen her at Thomas's flat. He'd wanted her immediately, of course. Given Number Two's track record, he'd assumed the man would cast aside Isobel soon enough and he'd swoop in to comfort her. This was over four years later, but better late than never, Harding thought with an internal grin. "Of course, baby," he soothed. "I'm here."

"Thank you," she whispered, bracing herself as his thick lips moved in to kiss hers. Harding's hand took her cheek as he tried to deepen the kiss. "Wait- Tom-" Isobel managed, trying to not bite his tongue off, "I just lost... Just wait a bit, all right? I promise you I'm worth the wait."

Harding cleared his throat, reluctantly pulling back. Smiling at her warmly, he murmured, "Of that I am quite certain."

 

When the double walnut doors opened to the estate's boardroom, the long table was nearly full, and all heads turned to see the new Number Two at the Corporation, and- as a buzz began in the room- the deceased's lovely girlfriend. 

"What is she doing here?" Strong said sharply, "We don't have time-"

"I'm here because I belong at this table," Isobel said calmly. She stared into Number One's fathomless, insectile eyes. "I claim right of familial succession."

Down the table, a blazing red head of hair turned sharply in Isobel's direction.

Looking over the woman's blazing eyes and heavily lipsticked mouth bent into a sneer, Isobel smiled sweetly. "Just like how dear Magnolia took her papa's place. Just as is allowed in the Corporation's covenants."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's just a few chapters left this story, but I promise much less blood and more smut. Much more smut.


	35. "You're a wife and a murderess and you're having a baby..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel does what must be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beloved Candyflaps, who coined the oh, so perfect nickname for the loathsome Magnolia.
> 
> Trigger warnings for violence.

Even shaking with terror as she was inside, Isobel felt the warm glow of spiteful satisfaction to see that horrible woman’s jaw drop. Magnolia definitely wasn’t expecting _her_.

“What is this?” Strong snapped irritably, “We don’t have time for ridiculous little girls who-”

“I’m Thomas’s wife- widow,” Isobel corrected bitterly, narrowing her eyes to keep from tearing up. “I have the same right to join the board as that one.” She nodded at Magnolia as she held up her hand to show her ring, enjoying another surge of spite. “This is our wedding certificate, we were married during the business trip in Scotland.”

Number One surveyed the paperwork for a moment, then slid it to one of their lawyers. “None of this matters. Magnolia worked alongside her father for years before joining the board of directors.”

Isobel interrupted him again, enjoying the look of fury in those Vantablack eyes. Number One was not a man used to being cut off in a conversation. “As have I. We’re discussing the most crucial negotiation between our esteemed clients, nuestros amigos Venezolanos-” she nodded respectfully to the Venezuelan group, avidly watching the bizarre goings-on as they would a train wreck, “and 名誉ある東京ヤクザエリート,” she finished, placing her palms together and bowing at the waist. The head of the Yakuza group, who had seen her humiliated and beaten just days before watched her, one brow raised. After a moment, he returned the courtesy. Strong could feel his tie begin to constrict his throat. The little bitch knew exactly what she was doing. Both cultures were highly invested in the importance of family and dynastic circle. They would support her claim.

"How can you pretend to be so calm?" Snapped Strong, "Your _husband,"_ he sneered, "your husband's body is barely cold." Rather than risk looking weak in front of their two clients and derail the deal, it had already been agreed that Thomas's death would appear as accidental,  rather than the murder of a traitor. Surprisingly, other than concern that the negotiations continue, there was minimal fuss. These were, after all, men who lived a violent and dangerous life. 

Isobel swallowed hard against the lump of rage and hate that was threatening to strangle her. "Because Thomas devoted the last year of his life to broker this deal," she said flatly, "and because I want to live."

Curling her hands into fists under the table, Isobel continued. “Thomas is...was working very hard on the issue of creating an accord between two such important clients. His plan today-” she paused and swallowed hard. You cannot cry! She raged internally, you can’t! “-was to introduce an option that would please both parties. But before we do that, perhaps it would be best to remove any untrustworthy elements from the room.”

Looking down the table, Isobel could see Tom watching her, his warm brown eyes gleaming as his index finger rested against those thick lips. He gave her a slight nod, and she forced herself to give him a shy smile in return.

“What elements are you speaking of, Isobel?” He finally spoke when it was clear that Strong would not ask the obvious question, still seething.

Opening a folder and pulling out some glossy 8x10 photos, she slid them down the long table, most stopping between Numbers One and Two, and a couple neatly coming to rest directly in front of Magnolia’s chair.

“It appears my husband was conducting a Judas file test of his own. Magnolia’s ah... bed partner is a CIA operative. She met him in Virginia, not far from the Agency’s Langley headquarters. Sloppy, dear,” she simpered at the horrified redhead.

“This- this is pure bullshit, ah do not know what this little bitch is talking about but he was just a one night stan’ we didn’t talk business an’ it was just-” Magnolia’s Southern accent was quickly becoming so thick her protests were running together.

Nose delicately wrinkled in distaste, Isobel shot a few more photos down the table. "A one night stand then, that lasted several weeks. In fact, you're still seeing him now, correct?" Her tone of distaste was no act, Isobel was nauseated by the images of the ugly and graphic acts. She tried to force the vision of Thomas in those pictures instead of the operative out of her mind, but her already queasy stomach was beginning to twist. "It's because of the baby we have a baby..." Her little internal voice prattled happily, ignoring the fact that Isobel was about to lose her tenuous grasp on control by vomiting.

"Ah- it's- well fuck YOU, BITCH!" Magnolia was out of her chair and heading for the girl when Number Two waved a hand and a dark-suited man easily subdued the woman, screeching and hissing curses like a cat. 

Concentrate! Don't you DARE! Isobel gritted her teeth as she scolded her writhing stomach. "As always, my husband was very thorough." She passed another folder to one of the Corporation's attorneys, pulling her marriage certificate back as she did so. "There's notes of all their activities together, including a visit to a very private weapons convention."

Harding was doing his best, but his words came out in a bit of a savage chuckle. "You know how we handle this kind of disloyalty, _Hag_ -nolia."

The redhead whipped her head around to spit at Number Two in fury at his insulting nickname. Another dark-suited employee tied a gag through her teeth to stop the spitting and swearing.

Turning to a motionless Strong, Harding asked politely, "Would you like to do the honors, Number One, or shall I?"

Isobel watched as Vantablack furiously rose to his feet, whipping his belt out of their loops. Clearly, he decided it was time to take control back. The man holding Magnolia (Hagnolia! Oh, that's funny! thought Isobel vaguely) bent her at the waist, forcing her head to the glossy wood of the table. As Strong advanced on her, Isobel gave a polite cough, rising to her feet.

"I have no interest in watching this display," she smiled in her best finishing school way, "and I do have more information to gather to help conclude these negotiations. Do continue without me." Isobel rose and walked as calmly, elegantly as her shaking knees would allow to the exit, where an expressionless Simja opened the door and escorted her out to the first, vicious crack of the leather and the answering scream from the redhead.

 

Walking in a stately fashion, Isobel just made it to their suite before breaking into a run for the bathroom, retching miserably over and over until she felt that surely there were no fluids left in her body. Simja calmly wet a cloth and put it on the back of her neck.

"Is this nerves?" She asked, pulling some strands of hair away from Isobel's sweaty face.

"Nerves," the girl managed, gagging a little, "and pregnancy hormones." Isobel raised her head to see a look of surprised joy on the usually dour face of the Israeli.

"A baby," Simja said, "this is a good thing. A good omen."

Isobel shook her head, amazed that the two most stoic people she knew were both overjoyed with her news. In a moment of sadness, she wondered if Morris would have been happy to know. Then her jaw tightened. He nearly killed Thomas- he might have still- chained to a chair and unable to do anything but be beaten to pieces because the Corporation knew he wouldn't fight back. Not if it meant saving her. (And the baby, there's a baby we're having a baby...) the little voice chanted again.

“So you have much to fight for now, Isobel.” Simja tightened her grip a little on the girl’s shaking hands. “Can you become that crazy woman again who tried to take my head off in the torture room?”

Isobel burst into slightly-hysterical laughter. “I’m sorry, Simja,” she did feel terrible, her friend’s cheekbone was swollen and well on the way to a black eye.

The older woman brushed it off, rising to return to the bathroom the get the cloth wet again, this time putting it on Isobel’s forehead.

“Did it please you?”

Looking up, Isobel frowned. “Did what please me?”

Simja was gathering clothing and wet towels. “That the American bitch is now facing your fate?”

Wiping her hand across her mouth, Isobel absently reminded herself to brush her teeth as she thought about it. The worst part of that horrible, brutal beating at the hand of the man she loved was that monstrous Magnolia. But remembering the scream at the impact of the leather as she left the board room, made her feel...nothing. "No..." she answered slowly, "I don't feel...anything, really. Not pleased, not disgusted. Just nothing."

Returning to gently swipe the cool cloth over the girl's sweaty face, Simja nodded. "Revenge is rarely as satisfactory as one might expect. But that woman is evil. It will be good to have her gone from this earth."

Isobel's jaw tightened. "As long as Strong goes with her. As long as they all do."

Nodding, Simja stood again. "Go freshen your makeup. You must look cool and collected now. The...correction will take an hour or so."

"It took an hour?" Isobel suddenly dry-heaved. Simja looked at her, confused, and realized she was speaking of her own horrible "correction."

"Traditionally, yes." The woman finally answered. Watching as Isobel stood, wavering just a bit, she added, "I will get you a biscuit and some ginger tea."

 

Sitting at the big mirror and mechanically re-applying some makeup, Isobel wondered about Thomas. Was her husband alive? Could Mary Margaret save him? She was no medical expert, but there was no question that Thomas's wounds were severe. "Hold on, please. We need you." Her hand slid down to her stomach as she remembered a conversation she'd had with Thomas as they lounged in their glorious tub at the flat. The man might tease her for loving that tub a little too much, but Isobel found that her cold lover was never more at ease than in the warm water, holding her body against his and stroking her skin. It was shortly after her attempts to give him a happy birthday, and Isobel was loose enough after two orgasms to ask him the question that haunted her.

 

"Thomas?"

His long fingers were idly circling her nipples. "Yes, darling?"

"Why do you not like your birthday?" His fingers paused on her breasts, and Isobel angled her head up to look at him. "I just...I know you did those things to please me."

Drawing his long legs up so that his knees rose above the warm water, Thomas settled her more comfortably against his groin. "No, sweet girl, I was very pleased that you would go to so much effort for me. I guess... Hmmm... I don't remember the last time I enjoyed my birthday, other than my 30th, when I met you, of course."

Isobel squirmed around to face him. "Really?" She had a shy smile. "You remember it that well?"

Thomas chuckled, his hardening groin bumping against her in a nicely distracting manner. "Of course. I knew at that moment that I must have you. I was willing to wait. I enjoyed being your friend. But it began a new chapter for me."

She was mildly stunned at the easy flow of rare information from this secretive man, so Isobel kept carefully silent, not wanting to disturb the spell. When he fell silent, the girl cautiously moved her hips a bit against his half-hard cock. "Why didn't you like your birthday before?"

When his gaze returned to her, his beautiful eyes were polar blue. "My brother Cameron- who had cancer? He died on my birthday. I've never wanted to think about it since, unless business parties are required."

"I'm sorry, Thomas." Isobel kept her expression carefully kind. Pity would disgust him. "Thank you for letting me celebrate with you. It meant so much, especially now that I know...more." Stroking her fingers lightly over his tight jaw and into his curls, the girl scratched his scalp, enjoying the way his eyes drooped in pleasure. Leaning a bit closer, she whispered, "Your brother knew how much you loved him. He knew."

Part of her was braced for his eyes to open, the polar blue searing her with his contempt for having the _temerity_ to assume she knew anything about him- but, Thomas didn't. Instead his body seemed to slump around hers, his forehead drop to her shoulder. Stunned with this moment of vulnerability, Isobel continued to carefully massage his tight neck, run her nails over his sensitive scalp as he stayed still against her. When he finally collected himself, Thomas's head rose to give her a devilish smile. "Let me give you a gift now, babygirl. You've been so good to Daddy." 

Knowing the moment was gone, Isobel shivered pleasantly and leaned closer to kiss him, waiting for whatever Thomas wished to do to her.

He abruptly stood, startling a little shriek from her as Thomas lifted her around his body, wrapping her legs and arms to hold herself steady as he stepped from the tub, ignoring the wet trails of bathwater that would ordinarily infuriate him as he strode to their bedroom window, a huge floor to ceiling affair that looked out over one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city. Slamming her back against the glass, Thomas groaned as he sank his wet cock into her, enjoying the slick slip and slide that he always felt pushing into his doll, her warmth enveloping him, welcoming him and drawing his cock into that clutching channel that seemed to reluctant to release him again. He looked up to see the little flinch that always scattered across his doll’s face, the sting and stretch of his entry still uncomfortable after fucking her nearly every day for four years. He paused, trying to gather his composure against the assault of sensation from his sweet doll- her tight, clenching channel, the strength of those ballet sculpted legs wrapped around his waist, her small breasts pressed to his chest. When he began to move more slowly, more carefully, Isobel’s head came up from his shoulder, her pale eyes regarding him curiously.

“Is...is this okay, Daddy? I could-”

“Shhhh...baby. This is so good. So good Daddy has to slow down for a minute.” Thomas closed his eyes, enjoying her rapturous little shudder against him. He felt her hum contentedly against him, leisurely scratching those sharp little nails against the skin of his back and shoulders, always seemingly to find the tight, sore spots. Despite his best effort to never reveal anything of himself to anyone, it seemed his sweet girl had picked up on his mannerisms, his response to her tentative moves of kindness and care. And as his back arched to dig into her luscious pussy harder, deeper, Thomas groaned as he found that she fitted him perfectly, shaping around his cock and all those fluttering tissues rubbing against him in the most provocative way. He began to push harder, feeling Isobel’s gasp, and whimper as he stretched her walls harder, staring out at the city he’d conquered.

“You’re mine.” Thomas said aggressively, shoving up into his doll hard enough to make her groan and cry out. “Mine.” Feeling her silky hair sweep against his cheek as she nodded, Thomas closed his eyes and shuddered, realizing for the first time that he was talking to her, and not the glittering lights of London.

 

Forcing herself back into the moment, Isobel took a deep breath. She'd seen Thomas center himself before, the emotion drain from his face, leaving it expressionless and utterly focused on the task at hand. She must be her husband. Cool. Unruffled. Making everyone believe the he had the answers. Except, this time it would be her. And if she failed, everything she loved would be gone. "I have to be enough," she whispered. "There's no other way."

Striding back into the boardroom, her gaze darted to see everyone back in place, aside from Magnolia. As her eyes went to the redhead's empty seat, Harding smiled malevolently, looking uncomfortably like Strong. "She is about to receive the second part of her punishment."

"Perhaps that could wait until our dealings here are finished?" Isobel knew- without a doubt- that Magnolia would not only have cheered her rape by these monsters but would have insisted on watching. But it gave her no comfort. Harding and Strong look at each other and nodded reluctantly. 'You are Thomas,' she chanted internally. 'Nothing bothers you.' In the end, the agreements were surprisingly simple. Her husband's painstaking build-up to this moment made her manipulation of the negotiation easier than she could have imagined. Even that rat bastard Vantablack was beginning to look at her with a quizzical expression of surprise and a barely dawning, grudging respect. As the last of the details were haggled over by the attorneys and the dawning emotion of agreement was seeping into the tense atmosphere, Isobel stood, smiling. "Gentlemen, I believe it's time for my little demonstration, that I believe will bring us all together in an agreement here. Thank you all for your gracious willingness to compromise, and it is now time for celebration."

Isobel stood, Simja expressionless by the door as the employees of the Corporation, the Yakuza and the Venezuelan groups lounged in their leather seats, drinking brandy, saki and ready to relax. Disarming them all with a final, sultry smile, Isobel looked to Strong, the monster who destroyed the good in her Tommy, to Harding, who stepped into the position of Number Two with the expectation that she would accompany it like some sort of an accessory. And to the men from two countries who managed to steal, murder and degrade with casual impunity. And last, to Morris. That night at the ballet, she had actually felt for a foolish moment that he was her family. As his expressionless gaze met hers, Isobel believed that somewhere in his dark, twisted heart, he believed he was. Holding a remote up in her hand, the girl smiled sweetly. "Gentlemen, if you will turn your attention to the screen, we will show you a demonstration of the magnificent weapon you have just purchased. Please enjoy."

Stepping backwards as the heavy oak doors were nearly shut, Isobel looked at a grim Simja. "Are you ready?" The woman asked her. Looking back into the room through the sliver of the closing door, Isobel could see the sudden, horrid awareness in the insectile eyes of Number One. That he had made a terrible mistake in underestimating her. And in that moment, Isobel felt such a savage joy that she not longer felt human.

Reaching to take the detonator in her hand, Isobel nodded and pushed the button, hearing the shrill hiss of the gas escape the shell tucked under the boardroom table and the screams of men and women feeling the blood spray from their eyes and mouth as they inhaled the vapor. Pulling on their gas masks, the two headed rapidly for the exit, Simja pulling a gun and shooting the team of hapless security men who attempted to stop them. Once in the car and halfway down the stately drive, they paused as Isobel looked at the detonator in her hand. This would kill everyone in the estate. Not just the upper-level monsters, but the Corporate functionaries. Those just beginning in this life of murder and theft, those who possibly could be saved. 'You'll be a murderess,' the little voice reminded her, 'you're a wife and a murderess and you're having a baby.'

Her thumb pressed the detonator, and the massive stone mansion went up in a eye-searing ball of flame.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...where's Thomas? Is he alive? Where's Ari? Do we give a shit? Do Isobel and Simja escape the estate? All will be answered. Thank you for sticking through the hard bits. I adore this community...


	36. "You Have No Idea What I'm Capable Of."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel comes to terms with what she's capable of, while Thomas is fully prepared to impress her with what HE is capable of, even while beaten to a pulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, dear friends! Thank you for following along with Thomas and Isobel's adventures. And... you know... the smut, and stuff. I cannot tell you how much I value our community here.

It was just as Simja and Isobel made it to the car when the realization of what she’d done hit the girl. The moment of horror at what she’d become hit her like a cricket bat to the face, and her knees buckled. The Israeli looked her stunned expression. “Get in the car, Isobel. We must leave now. Now!” She shouted suddenly, making the girl jump, but obey her orders.

It took Isobel a good ten minutes to attempt to speak again. “Where is Thomas?”

“With his sister, over the border in Scotland. She has a doctor friend who has a house on the coast there. No one will find them.” Simja’s hand was firm on the wheel, and she looked completely composed, as if they were out for a drive in the country.

Isobel nodded numbly, then felt a flush of shame that it had taken her so long to remember her- “Oh, god! Where is Ari? Who’s with him if you’re here?”

Simja reached over to pat her arm. “Two of my friends from my Israeli military days. Trust me, the boy is safer than the Queen of England.” She pulled out a package of wet wipes and handed them to Isobel. “Your face is covered in soot. It would not do to be pulled over in this condition.”

Absently scrubbing at her forehead, Isobel managed to gather her senses a bit. “How did you- you swooped in and saved us- I didn’t know who to trust! How did the estate get rigged with the explosives? Who could have smuggled in the nerve gas canister? The Corporation security is ridiculously over the top?”

The older woman chuckled, checking behind her as they turned on to the A1. The explosion was so massive that she could still see the column of smoke rising to the sky from what was left of the Corporation’s “country estate.” “Your clever husband, of course. He smuggled in the nerve gas and altered the security sensors so that it would not trip them. He wired the estate with plastique over a week ago.”

“Plans within plans within plans…” Isobel murmured, shaking her head.

Simja’s expression turned grim. “And that is a good thing. He actually trusted Morris, because of the bodyguard’s love for you. It did not occur to him that it would not extend to his safety. He was certain of Morris’s help, but he contacted me to be on standby. This was a fortunate thing.” She glanced over to see an expression of hate and rage on Isobel’s face- something utterly alien. “You did not suspect him, either?”

Shaking her head, Isobel tried to reign in her fury. “Thomas gave him everything. Hired him when he’d been let go by the police department. Too violent, they said. He despised me at first, he thought I was another one of Thomas’s whores. But in the last four years, I thought… well, it doesn’t matter. The others? I always knew what they were. But I almost believed Morris was... family.”

Looking over, Simja arched an eyebrow. “Family?”

Isobel gave a wet little chuckle. “Thomas told me once that- right after that horrible garden party, when you helped me?" She waited for Simja's nod. "That sometimes you have to select your family. The people who care about you, the ones you care for. To ones to whom you are already perfect. I um," she blew her nose on the sooty wet wipe, looking out the window. "I asked him if he was my family, and he said yes. It was the moment I could let my parents go. I could make my own family."

Nodding, Simja simply said, "Ah."

"I hope you don't mind," Isobel ventured, "but I added you to the list a long time ago." The tough Israeli- former paratrooper and arsonist extraordinaire- simply reached over and squeezed her hand, making a rusty little noise in her throat that sounded like, "Good."

 

It certainly wasn’t the first time Thomas had been in excruciating pain. In an agony that made his mind try to break free of his body and just… drift away. His early years as a Corporation operative were riddled with damage… injuries from circumstances so suspicious that he relied on Mary Margaret, and later a Corporation doctor to patch him up to avoid a hospital and inconvenient questions. But this time, he was terrified to let loose from the moorings of his agony, not sure if he could return back into his battered body. His broken mouth managed, “Issss..." as his sister leaned over him with a suture gun, trying to close as many wounds as possible.

Mary Margaret smiled. “I just got a text. Coded, obviously. But Isobel and Simja are alive. And there’s something about a massive explosion just outside of London on a certain, expensive estate. Which I am certain you know nothing about." Her smiled faded when Thomas gave a garbled chuckle, making more blood slip through his teeth. “Thomas, I’m going to need help. Some of your injuries are too much to repair on my own.” She frowned at his angry negative grunt, and shook her head. “You will have to accept help. The doctor who owns this cottage is,” here, Mary Margaret brushed back a lock of hair and tried to conceal a little smile of girlish pride, “is my fiance. He will not be saying a word. He will not approve, but he will not speak of this again.” She ignored the frustration in those chilly eyes, so close to her own and added another half syringe of morphine to his IV line. “Sleep, Tommy.” Gently brushing her hand over his furrowed forehead, she wondered if she could even remember the last time she’d touched him with affection.

Isobel shifted from one foot to another as she pumped petrol into the car as Simja went to pay. Every mile seemed like ten as she kept thinking of Thomas. How could anyone survive the damage she'd seen on his body from the cruel hands of Morris? Literally, almost beaten to death. She shuddered, and an ugly part of her wished she could kill Number One and Morris all over again.

It was the darkest hours of early morning when the two reached the cottage in Scotland. Simja was never satisfied that all the “Loose ends have been tied,” as she said, and the woman doubled back a couple of times and changed direction to make sure no one was following them. While Isobel understood the importance of this and would have done it a thousand times more if it kept anyone from finding Thomas, being so close and not knowing if he was even alive was excruciating.

 

The stone building was quiet and dark when they finally pulled up, only lights shining in back windows revealing anyone was there. When Mary Margaret opened the door, Isobel frantically grasped her arms.

“Is he… Is Thomas…”

Mary Margaret's nod nearly sent her to her knees, but her next words terrified Isobel all over again.

“He’s alive Isobel, and he’s been asking for you over and over. But I have to be clear.” Mary Margaret led them rapidly through the dim hall and into the back, where a master bedroom was converted into an operating room of sorts. “Tommy sustained massive damage- nearly every rib is broken, part of his spine is misaligned- that in of itself must be agonizing. But I believe one of the ribs has punctured his left lung, and there’s some evidence that a kidney’s in bad shape, too. I can’t tell as much as I’d like because the portable x-ray machine isn’t as sophisticated.”

Isobel was nodding, paying attention but also frantic to see him. If she could just see Thomas, he’d be all right, he’d live and-

“Isobel, _listen to me.”_ Mary Margaret's voice was sharp, the 'I’m a medical professional so shut up’ voice did the trick, and the girl stopped to focus. “Tommy’s internal bleeding will be fatal if we can’t find the bleeders and tie them off. I’ve got to get the pressure off his lung to keep it from a total collapse. We’re going to have to operate-”

The girl’s grip on her hand tightened into a talon-like grip. “We? You brought someone into this?”

Irritably shaking off her grip, Mary Margaret scowled, pulling out her pack of smokes, then sadly putting them back in her scrubs pocket. “Yes. My fiance. And fortunately for Tommy he’s a surgeon- a thoracic surgeon, to be precise. He’s suiting up now, and I need you to be calm when you see Tommy. No crying, you can’t upset him.”

Isobel took a deep breath in, letting it out through her nose, something she did before every ballet performance. “Of course,” she said, perfectly composed. “Now please let me see my husband.” Mary Margaret’s eyes went wide at that- apparently there had been no time to share the happy news, given his dire condition.

“Thomas.” He managed to open one bloodshot eye to see Isobel- beautifully alive and looking untouched- moving to him. Leaning into him, she whispered, “Daddy, my sweet husband, my Sir. I love you. Thank you for living for me.”

He groaned, not from pain, but from the utter relief of seeing Isobel alive. "Issss..."

"Shhhh, baby. Don't talk." Thomas squeezed her hand, and she understood. "They're all dead," she whispered, leaning in close. "The nerve gas did it's job, and we detonated the explosives to destroy the estate and rendered the gas inert-" Isobel broke off as a man came into the room, dressed in scrubs like Mary Margaret.

"You must be Isobel," the man said, and his tired, kind face set her at ease a bit. He was quite a bit older than Mary Margaret, but tall, like Thomas and with red hair. "I'm Matthew Meyers," she nodded with a smile, but he continued on, "your- husband, I hear?" He looked back at Mary Margaret for confirmation, and she rolled her eyes, but nodded and smiled. "-your husband needs immediate surgery. We don't have everything we need to do this as well as I could. But we'll make do."

Isobel forced herself to breathe again. "How can I help?"

Meyers nodded, beginning to slather his hands with sanitizer as Mary Margaret did the same. "I'll need someone to manually work the respirator. I don't have enough electrical output here and I need what I have for the imaging."

"I will do it." Simja stepped up, putting a hand on Isobel, but she shook it off.

"I can do it."

"There's going to be a lot of blood, Isobel," Mary Margaret said sternly, "it's not-"

Isobel rose to her full height, which made her look down at her new sister-in-law. "I can do it. You have no idea-" she gave a slightly hysterical giggle, "-you have no idea of what I'm capable of doing." A gurgling that could be considered a chuckle emerged from Thomas, and they both looked down. Leaning down, she whispered, "You're going to be fine. And I will be here the whole time."

 

Mary Margaret wasn't joking, it was extraordinarily bloody. Isobel stayed by Thomas's head, steadily keeping the respirator moving with an almost metronomic accuracy. It took three hours and once, the lights in the room flickered and Isobel's heart nearly seized, thinking the power would fail. But it didn't, and finally Meyers stepped back and stripped off his gloves with a sigh. "I believe we got everything. We'll know within 12 hours if I'm correct."

"You're always correct," Mary Margaret smiled, and Isobel's jaw nearly dropped to see the woman cheerful and flirty. She deftly moved cords and settled instruments more efficiently around the still body of her brother. Stripping off her bloody gloves, she nodded to Isobel. "You can take those off, too. Just make sure you bathe in hand sanitizer before touching him." She stretched, clearly exhausted. "I'm going to have to give some blood, Tommy and I are the same type and we're out of supplies. Can you keep an eye on him?"

 

Isobel looked at her with a certain intensity she'd never seen on the shy girl before. "Of course. I won't be going anywhere."

And, she didn't. It was hours before Thomas stirred enough for Meyers to examine him. The day had slipped into the afternoon, then the evening again without Isobel even noticing. When the doctor was finished and leaned back, looping his stethoscope around his neck, he smiled. "He looks good. Unreasonably good, if I must say. Better than he has a right to look."

Mary Margaret laughed. "That's Tommy."

Leaning over in a position that kept him from having to move his head, Isobel smiled down at his pale face, carefully wiping some blood off his stubbled cheek. "Hello, my dear husband."

Thomas coughed, but it wasn't with the terrifying, broken sound from before. "Hello, sweet wife."

 

They stayed in the stone cottage for eight weeks, Mary Margaret finally had to return to the hospital after her five day emergency leave was over, with the promise that she and Matt would return each weekend. Simja continuously monitored the news, watching for any sign that anyone had survived the blast. There was surprisingly little coverage- only because there was not much to tell about the three highly secretive groups involved. It was treated as a tragic accident, with no mention of the Corporation's illegal activity. And of course, Thomas and Isobel were named among the victims.

"Come on, Daddy. You need to get up and walk." Isobel was almost irritatingly chipper as she helped a growling Thomas sit up, and swing his legs over the side of the bed. 

“I believe you might want to dial back your obvious pleasure in telling Daddy what to do, little one,” it wasn’t quite a growl, but there was a definite rumble to Thomas’s voice, a note that always made Isobel pay attention. She shivered involuntarily. He was definitely feeling better then.

Definitely.

Blinking her lashes with all innocence, Isobel murmured, “I only want to help you feel better, Daddy.”

“Hmmm…” the growl was still there, and she shivered involuntarily. She hadn’t even thought about sex for days and days, too occupied with his recovery. But her pregnancy hormones were sleazing into gear, taking over her dreams these last couple of nights with delightfully filthy dreams- of Thomas fucking her bent over his bed, in the shower, on the beach in front of the cottage. She'd actually woken up this morning with her fingers playing at her center, ridiculously wet from a silly dream. Still seated, her diabolical husband leaned into her crotch, taking a long, lewd sniff. When Isobel gasped with embarrassment and tried to move away, his broad hand suddenly settled on her back, holding her still. "I've been a bad Daddy," Thomas said thoughtfully, that raspy undertone making her shiver again, "not taking care of my babygirl."

His other hand was beginning to slide up the slight swell of her stomach, taking Isobel's t-shirt with it. "Nooooo, Daddy," she moaned, "you've taken care of me for eight years, I get to take care of you for at least a few days."

Thomas's dark head was bent, following the path of his hand as it circled over her soft skin, brushing along one breast, and then the other. "Where is Simja, darling?"

Isobel's eyes suddenly opened again. "You- you want Simja?" She asked incredulously. _"Now?"_

His white teeth gleamed as her husband burst into laughter. “No, baby. I wanted to know where she was to make certain we would not be disturbed.” That rough hand was trailing down again, stroking lightly along the hemline of Isobel’s jeans, making her suck in a deep breath.

“Ohhhh…” the girl’s breath came out in a relieved rush. “She’s gone to the market. She- ohhhh, God, Thomas!” His hand deftly unsnapped her pants and began sliding them over her hips, gravity taking over to drop them down her thighs. “She should be gone for at least an hour,” Isobel managed to volunteer, trying not to push her hips along his gliding fingers. Experience told her that participation on her part would mean a strategic withdrawal of his talented fingers and her frustration for as long as her daddy demanded it.

"Ah." That guttural, pleased tone nearly made her come from hearing it. "Such a good girl, holding still for Daddy. And why do we do that?"

Cruelly, his long fingers were sliding along the thin skin of her upper thighs, circling closer to the soft, swelling lips of her pussy. "Because..." Isobel closed her eyes and tried to think. It had been some time since they'd played these games and her need was making her memory faulty. "Because you decide how much I- Oh, GOD, Daddy!" One digit had turned suddenly and slid into her channel as it's three brothers and thumb stroked along her wet slit. 

"Why, baby?" Thomas was relentless, azure eyes carefully drinking in her expression, his doll's shaking legs. 

"Because you decide how much... um... pleasure I receive?" Isobel groaned, "And... oh! That's so... and when I receive it?"

Thomas chuckled, the dark feel of it rolling along her spine as his hand stroked her there, sliding down through the crease between her buttocks. “Exactly. Such a good girl to remember, aren’t you?”

“I… guess?” Isobel’s knees were beginning to shake, but she was terrified to move and break this spell. It was startling to think Thomas could even be interested at this point, given how serious his injuries had been. But even if she tried to bring it up, it would only be used against her, drawing her desperately needed orgasm out longer.

“Have you been a good girl, Isobel?” Another finger slid into her, lightly spreading along her clenched channel, “Have you come without permission?”

“Oh, no, Daddy!” Isobel’s eyes opened with surprise that he would even think such a thing. After all these years, his training for her orgasm control was so exacting that it wouldn’t have occurred to her to try.

“Not even with all those lovely hormones? Spurred on by your pregnancy? Your sweet, swelling breasts?” Ohhhhh...his voice was sin now, sin incarnate, and the barely concealed grin at the end of his sentence told her that Thomas was quite aware of that fact.

Isobel’s legs were shaking with the effort of holding still against his wandering fingers, sliding, stroking, poking against her. “Well, I have been…” she tried to answer, but a third finger joined the others up her pussy and language was suddenly becoming a challenge. “Just… dreams…”

Even with a black eye, cut mouth and brutal bruises still marring his lean torso, Thomas had never looked more dangerous to her. "Hmmmm..." he purred, "naughty dreams, darling? Dirty dreams?"

His thumb was tapping against her clit while the other hand was sliding alarmingly close to the anxiously puckered rosebud of her ass. "Yes?" Isobel whimpered, wondering if it was the right answer but incapable of trying to decide.

Damnably, cruelly, infuriatingly, Thomas's talented fingers stilled. "I see. Get on the bed."

"What?" 'He wouldn't!' Isobel moaned internally, 'He wouldn't be this mean!'

"You heard me, babygirl."

Feeling his fingers slide out of her, Isobel nearly cried to see Thomas meticulously examine his glistening hand, idly licking each digit clean of her. Slowly, she crawled on to the bed, trying not to jostle him as she did so.

"Down to the foot of the bed, darling." Thomas had re-settled himself against the pillows she'd carefully fluffed for him, sliding down his loose lounge pants to pull his cock free. He grinned to hear Isobel's little sigh as she watched it harden against the stroking of his hand. Obeying him, she scooted to the base, their long legs brushing each other on the narrow bed as they faced each other. "Now draw your legs up- I want to see your heels touch that pert little ass of yours."

Isobel's heart was pounding so hard she was surprised it wasn't visible. "But I'm pregnant, we're going to have a baby I'm pregnant..." the little, annoying voice piped up in her head. Thomas cocked his head, watching her smile slip.

"Babygirl, what's going through that clever mind of yours?"

"I'm bigger... I'm going to get stretch marks and be... I don't know..." absurdly, Isobel suddenly felt like covering her breasts, as if Thomas had not seen them every day, examined and played with them with great appreciation.

He began to laugh, and she nearly flew off the bed in a fit of fury before his big hand caught her around the knee. "Sweetness, stop. Be still and listen to Daddy." Thomas watched as she obeyed him sullenly, refusing to look up. "Nothing... _nothing_ could be more beautiful to me than who you are now. My exquisite, courageous girl? Carrying our child? These lovely breasts..." As his hand moved slowly over her painfully sensitive nipples, Isobel's clenched teeth let out a whimper. "So beautiful," he crooned, "so much more than I deserve, my love." She could hear his tone change then, from seductive to almost astonished. "So much more..." he mused, stroking along her center again. "And yet, here you are. Having chosen my black heart. How could I be anything but grateful for a second chance at life with you?" Isobel's head dropped to his stitched shoulder, and Thomas stifled a groan at the impact of her rather hard forehead against the throbbing wound. "When I dropped my gun as Morris had you, I knew I would never see you again. I knew what he was going to do. And I let him, as long as it meant you would live."

It was her eyes, he thought absently, those fathomless seafoam eyes of hers, so translucent. He'd fallen in love with them first. "How could I be anything but grateful for whatever stroke of luck gave me this second chance? And I will love and desire you as fiercely when you are great with child, your sweet breasts swollen- God!" Thomas groaned, dipping his head to suckle on one stiff nipple. "Never doubt that with me. You will always be beautiful to me. Always."

Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, kissing him fiercely, eyes wet but not even noticing. "I love you- husband, Thomas, Daddy..."

"And I you," came his voice, deep and soothing, "sweetest wife, Isobel, my perfect doll." He stroked her gently, along her sides, her hair, and when she calmed, slid his fingers along her breasts and her damp center. "Now, baby. Lean back against those pillows and show Daddy how you come for me." Enticingly spreading his long legs to bracket hers, Thomas took his swelling cock in a firm grip and began to stroke it. "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours, babydoll."

 

 


	37. Because Nothing Ever Goes The Way You Planned It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel and Thomas face a challenge neither expected. Like, EVER.
> 
> Trigger warning for remembered violence. And a new kink, so the sex is pretty graphic. But since it is Thomas, I doubt many of you will be displeased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long here on "My Lovely Doll." There is one more chapter to go after this one for Isobel and Thomas- on this story, at least. For whatever reason, someone took an inordinate amount of time to complain to AO3 about every single one of my stories, regarding small tagging errors and random other issues. It must have taken this person days and days to rack this mess up. Anyway, AO3 was threatening to deactivate my account if I didn't spend several hours to "fix" all my grievous errors- like not labeling something "RPF." I was tempted to just walk away, since these type of trolls live on tormenting one until there's nothing left. But I love all of you and the community we have here, so I vowed to stay and waste my minimal time spent on updating chapters to "fix" my "errors" instead. Fortunately, a nice AO3 tag wrangler who kind of knew this was bullshit has been helping me. This is why it's taken so long to update my stories, but I appreciate your patience. To the creature who spent an astonishing amount of time to create this issue for me: I'm sorry you're angry and mean. I'm sorry for whatever has made you into this person. But attempting to drive me away from this beautiful community of people is sad and ridiculous. I know this probably won't stop you, but I'm sending you a big internet hug and hoping you find happiness in a way that doesn't attempt to damage other people. Life is too short. Believe me. In the last year and a half, I have learned this. In blood.

She was kneeling over Thomas's broken body, the gun still smoking in Strong's hand. But it wasn't the decoy body, it was Thomas whose head was demolished by the path of the bullet. Covered in her husband's blood, all Isobel could do was scream. "What have you done to him? What have you DONE!"

"Shhh... love, hush. It's all right Isobel, just a dream. You're all right, I'm here. Just a dream..." Isobel's eyes opened to find Thomas rocking her, making soothing noises as her hands held a death grip on his forearm. "Just a dream, sweetness." She could feel his lips kiss along her hairline, lingering over a wildly pulsing vein in her temple.

Sucking in a huge gasp of air, the girl managed to nod, putting one hand over her growing bump protectively. She watched as Thomas slid off the bed and walked stiffly into the bathroom, returning with a mug of water.

"Drink this, darling." Doing as she was told, Isobel found her teeth chattered against the cup's edge, matching her shudders. Finally stilling long enough to swallow, she slowly finished her water. Thomas hummed in approval and wiped her face with a cool cloth, setting it aside as he watched her. "Better now?"

Isobel forced a smile, nodding for him. "I feel... stupid, screaming and crying like a child." His rough hand came up to stroke her cheek as Thomas looked down at her. ‘He smiles with such tenderness, now…’ Isobel thought vaguely as his thumb moved over her lips. 

"You're not a little girl any more," he disagreed, "you've done and seen things that would crush most people. And all of it leaves a mark."

Isobel leaned a shoulder against his broad chest, settling in more comfortably as she looked up into his face. "Do you still have nightmares?"

Thomas stilled, looking down at her. "About the people I've killed? No." For a moment, Isobel was chilled by his suddenly blank expression. "Everyone I killed deserved it. Every single one."

"Oh..." Isobel licked her lips, not sure what to say.

"But I-" he shifted restlessly, gently pulling her back onto his chest when the girl would have moved off him, “-I dream about my father. My brother. About failing them.” Thomas held up a hand when Isobel’s mouth opened, ready to defend him. “It doesn’t matter what you say, darling. I failed them and the nightmares are only a small part of what I must pay for that.” Looking down at her brows drawn stubbornly together, he leaned down to kiss her. “But you, my avenging angel- your nightmares will fade, I believe it. You killed only to save me, to save your family. And believe me…” as his soothing words died off, Isobel could see the undertow of self-loathing in his eyes, “...those people? They all deserved death. Every. Single. One.”

Isobel nodded and tried to smile, curling against him tightly as they both went back to sleep, knowing that his words intended to comfort her had done absolutely nothing of the sort.

 

But after two months in the stone cottage on the Scottish coast, Thomas’s ribs had healed, except for the occasional painful twinge, usually during something sexually acrobatic with Isobel which he implemented again far sooner than he should have. His battered body mended, though Meyers- Mary Margaret with a fiance? Good Lord!- told him plainly that his tender spine and kidney would take longer.

“You’re going to have to be a regular, nondescript sort now," the surgeon said, finishing up his last ultrasound over Thomas’s torso. “Jumping back into your former line of work will end you. And you have reasons to walk away from all that, correct?”

Thomas tried not to bristle. He liked this cranky Scotsman and was quite aware he owed him his life. “As far as anyone knows, I’m dead. As is Isobel. We walk away. We go somewhere new and we raise our family.”

Meyers finished putting away the medical equipment and looked at him. “Are you capable of doing that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The… power,” the doctor said thoughtfully, “everyone terrified of you. Finally being the one who made the decisions. It’s a difficult thing to give up.” He chuckled, looked at his soon to be brother in law’s haughtily raised brow. “I’m a surgeon, mate. I like telling people what to do as well. Not quite in the same way as you did, of course. But to hold a man’s life in your hands…”

“I can see I should be grateful for Mary Margaret’s influence over you,” Thomas said dryly, making the other man burst into laughter. “But yes,” he offered, standing stiffly from the bed, “I can. I’ve spent the last two years engineering a way to get Isobel, Ari, and ideally, myself free. I’m a husband and a father now, two things I never thought I would be allowed- things I didn’t even know I wanted before Isobel. This is our second chance.”

Meyers slapped him on the back, unfortunately close to the most brutalized part of his healing spine, something that Thomas would have broken his wrist for in a past life, but this time, he merely rotated his stinging shoulder blade and smiled. With just a touch of menace.

"What did Matthew say?" Isobel stood with a smile when Thomas walked out on to the deck. She could see the difference in how he walked, without the tension around his mouth from the pain he refused to show. Her husband moved more easily now, which made her heart unclench a little from the tight fist that seemed to hold it half-strangled as she'd waited to see if Thomas would really be able to recover from what had been done to him. She’d never told him that most of her nightmares were about losing him, not about what she’d done.

He took her hands, azure eyes glowing down at her as he kissed one palm and then the other. “A clean bill of health, of course.”

“Clean-ish!” Came the shout from the from the other room, with made Isobel’s eyebrow raise speculatively.

 

Later, when Mary Margaret and Matthew had headed back to London and Simja was off doing whatever Simja-centered things the Israeli did in her free time, Mr. and Mrs. Williams cleared the dinner dishes. Thomas made certain to brush against his glowing wife as much as possible, enjoying the little shivers that went through her as his hands trailed over her now-fuller breasts and her rounded belly.

“Are you bumping into me as a rather tormenting form of foreplay, Thomas, or am I just so gigantic now that you don’t have a choice?”

“Now, now,” he soothed, “are you worried about that already?” He turned them to face the long mirror leading into their bedroom, his big hands smoothing over the growing bump on her abdomen. Pulling the fabric of her dress taut, he could see the little mound that proved his child was growing inside her. “You have never been more beautiful- could never be more beautiful to me than now.”

Putting one of her hands over his, Isobel sighed. “I’ve read all these books, and I just- I seem very large for only 3 months. This child is going to be a giant.” Looking up at her tall husband hovering over her, she laughed. “Of course, look at his father.”

Thomas had been doing his own reading, but rather than wasting the time he intended to use defiling his bride with arguing, he simply kissed down her neck, drawing his hands higher on her chest as he did so. “We’re seeing your new doctor this week, so you can address your concerns with her. Now, to the present..." he purred, those long fingers beginning to trace over her tightening nipples, enjoying the rapturous little shudder that he doubted Isobel knew she always made when he touched her there. 

“Look at these lovely breasts, already fuller.” Gently twisting one nipple and then the other, Thomas smiled into her neck, “Sensitive, baby?” Taking a nipple between thumb and forefinger, he pulled it upwards as Isobel stiffened and gasped.

“Too much?”

She shook her head, back still arched against his pulling hand, her fingers digging into his thigh. “What about this?” Diabolically, Thomas switched to pulling the other nipple while sucking the abused one into his warm mouth. His pleased moan rippled through the painfully aroused nerve endings of her breast, making Isobel whimper.

“This pregnancy,” she groaned, “it’s made my whole body sensitive- every inch of my skin.” The chuckle against her throat told Isobel that she’d fallen right into his trap.

“My poor darling,” Thomas soothed, “perhaps I can help you with that.” He chuckled again at the look of wary suspicion in her seagreen eyes, but his wife obediently leaned back again as he removed her shorts and somewhat twisted-up bra, stroking each new patch of bare skin with kisses and whispering about how beautiful she was, what a good girl. Finally reaching her undies, Thomas fingered the edge of the white lace, smiling luridly. “So sweet and virginal, these white knickers of yours…” Isobel gasped as she felt his fingers pushing the cloth inside her, making the tensed fabric draw tight over her swollen clitoris and outlining her lower lips. He growled low in his throat, making the girl gasp. “Already wet, the lace is nearly soaked through. Because you aren’t the pure little thing you pretend to be to the outside world, are you, baby?”

Isobel made an angry noise, but her scattered brain cells couldn’t seem to draw together long enough to form a response.

“Oh! What are you-” Gasping again, she felt those long fingers of her spouse push the cloth higher inside her, making the seams stretch and begin to rip.

“As I said,” Thomas continued as if she’d not spoken, “you do look so very pure, my angel. It drew me to you from the beginning, the thought of being in the center of all that sweetness…” his fingers pushed the fabric higher inside her as one big hand impatiently ripped the undies on both sides, tearing them free from her hips. Isobel gasped as she felt him shove the ruined knickers even deeper. "I have spent some time thinking about your dilemma, little one."

"What? I-" Isobel was gasping from the shock of the fabric sliding inside her wet channel.

His heavy body was above her now, caging her between muscled arms and legs. “Your tender, sensitive body. What kind of a husband would I be if I didn’t attend to my darling’s side effects from carrying our child?”

Thomas slowly rolled Isobel face down, stretching her long legs and arms out, smiling a bit to feel her shaking. Her head went up as she heard the light clinking sound of metal objects striking against others. “Daddy, what um, what are you doing?”

His greedy chuckle did nothing to reassure you. “I”m taking care of you, baby.” Isobel stifled a yelp as five pinprick points of pressure suddenly landed on the excruciatingly sensitive skin of her back. “Shhhh…” he soothed, “do you feel this uncomfortable, itchy skin?”

Cautiously, she nodded.

“This will help you, darling.”

“OOOOOOO…” Isobel gasped and stiffened as the five points of penetration became ten. Ten razor-sharp claws sliding carefully down her back. “What- Thomas?” She couldn’t think of the right thing to say, what to ask about the searingly good metal talons soothing the irritating itch of her skin, making it shiver in the most soothing, delicious way.

The razor sharp points paused for a moment. One of Thomas’s hands came into her field of vision. His long fingers were encased in shining claw tips.

“What are they?” Isobel gasped, “What are you doing?”

 "It's called clawing."

Isobel stiffened and bit back a shriek as the sharp metal tips suddenly dug into her skin, a few in the groove near her ass, the others on the soft skin of her abdomen. Her muscles convulsed, making her embarrassed that she couldn't help the arch of her hips. "It's- they're sharp," she said lamely, not knowing what to say about the alien feeling of arousal swamping her from those scary, spiky points.

"I know," Thomas soothed patiently, "but they will make you feel so much-" the metal points suddenly dug in, making her stifle another shriek as two of his clawed fingers pressed uncomfortably close to her clitoris, "-much better after I make you come with them."

"How can they- how can you- oh, GOD, Daddy!" Isobel shrieked, past shame and 2000 meters past caring about why. She simply needed it, whatever "it" was that Thomas was doing to her. All she could feel were the red hot lines of fire sliding down her skin in thin lines, making her painfully aroused center in even more desperate need of some kind of comfort. But when those painfully pointy implements slid down the lines of her back to slide between the globes of her ass, she stiffened. "Thomas! You said-"

"-I would never fuck your ass without your consent and great care," he soothed. "Just relax." He was comforting, soothing, and cruel all at once, the menacing metal claws stroking over her back, her shivering arms, painfully aroused breasts, legs, and then, hearing her grateful moan, returning to the swollen entrance of her pussy. "It's like a flower, " Thomas purred, "your swollen, juicy kitty. Your slick is so plentiful that your quim is shining. Those pink lips opening for me, like petals on a particularly perfectly bloom."

All Isobel could focus on was the moment. The terrifying, arousing feel of the deadly sharp tips of the metal claws stroking the irritable skin on her body. And every time the girl felt relief, the ache was even worse. With infinite care, Thomas ran those gleaming talons along the wet lines of her pussy, watching her hands clench into fists as he applied the slightest bit of pressure to her clit. Isobel whimpered, she could feel the needle-like tip rolling the little bundle and making the hood of flesh move back, exposing the single most sensitive part of her body to the gleaming claw.   

"Don't. Move." Isobel shivered at the growl of her husband's deep voice just behind her, the cultured edge degrading into something harder, more commanding. His tongue ran up the wildly pulsing vein in her neck. "You must be very still, little girl. These claws are quite honed for a keen edge. I would not like to injure this most precious, delicate kitty." She began to shake with the desperation to hold motionless against the metal toying with her clit, sliding along her wet, pink folds, the other hand clawing lightly around her backside. Who _knew_ something like this could feel so good, like he was relieving her of a deep ache but starting another?

Isobel's dam burst and she finally moaned, "Please! Daddy, please? I need you!" 

"I'm here, lovely," soothed that beautiful resonantly voice. All at once, one claw slipped gracefully into her ass, another hooked on the shredded undies stuffed inside her, yanking them out as the rough lace stimulated her convulsing walls, and the third carefully, precisely, sharply flicked her painfully exposed clit. And Isobel screamed. Like a banshee. The nice, well-bred, Cambridge educated, pregnant, stone-cold killer screamed at the top of her very satisfied lungs.

And promptly passed out.

"Darling?" Thomas waited a moment before realizing his lovely doll had passed out from her orgasm. Chuckling in a self-satisfied way that would have annoyed Isobel- had she been conscious to hear it- he carefully arranged her limp form on the bed. After a trip to the bathroom, he returned to soothe her reddened center with a warm cloth and applying coconut oil to the rest of her skin, enjoying the rapidly fading lines that decorated Isobel's skin.

"Hmmmm..."

Thomas looked up from his book as Isobel stirred, sliding his hand up her arm to her cheek. "How do you feel, my darling girl?"

Putting her hands up to covered her red cheeks, she started giggling. "Did I faint? Oh, my god! What _was_ that?"

Kissing her, Thomas couldn't control his laugh. "Yes, you did. And may I say you have never been more beautiful as you came for me."

Shuddering a bit, Isobel closer. "It was... so much. And so good." Shyly, she reached for his rapidly stiffening cock. "May I thank you?" Her slim fingers slid along him, enjoying the way the soft flesh hardened so quickly into stone.

One big hand came down over hers, stilling it. "This is not a time where you owe me anything babygirl. And I imagine your tender kitty is a little sore right now."

Daringly sliding one leg over his lap to straddle Thomas, Isobel smiled wickedly. "Tit for tat, Tommy." Sighing as she slid down his cock, she enjoyed the stretch, the sting that told her that her daddy was about to own her. Body and soul.

Thomas groaned, his head dropping back. "I love you, my sweet Isobel. Thank you for loving me."

 

                                                                                              ------------------------------

 

They were smiling at each other, holding hands in public in a rather un-Thomas like way of giddiness as they entered the OB/GYN's office. Isobel smiled as rows of pregnant women looked up and melted over the handsome man beside her, just as they had the first time Thomas had brought her to the doctor the morning after taking her virginity. She seemed like someone else, that anxious girl who cringed in humiliation as her new daddy seemed fully intent on sitting through her exam, listening to the nurse ask questions about her last menstruation. 

Giving a little giggle, Isobel remembered her relief when her doctor firmly ushered him out the door.

“What are you laughing at, love?” Tom murmured, leaning closer.

Isobel set her lips next to his ear, enjoying the sharply indrawn breath he took. Nice to know she wasn’t the only one affected by his nearness. “I was remembering when you took me to Dr. Carruthers the morning after we… you know.”

“The morning after I fucked you for the first time?” He enunciated precisely, enjoying watching the girl cringe. Fortunately, no one seemed to hear him but her, and Isobel glared at him playfully.

“That girl seems like someone else, now,” she whispered. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

Idly running his knuckles up and down her arm, enjoying the softness of her bare skin, Thomas said, “And what would you say to that girl, now?”

“That you were everything I wanted, and everything I feared.” Isobel answered honestly, watching his eyes darken to cobalt. “And everything I hoped you would be.”

Thomas merely smiled and kissed her hand, but the tenderness with which he did it showed what he felt.

 

“Mrs. Pine?” The couple looked up to see the nurse hovering at the door, then smiled and followed her in. Seated on the examination table in her awkwardly fitting gown, Isobel smiled as Dr. MacLeod bustled into the room. The doctor looked surprised, then pleased to see them both.

“I didn’t think I’d see you two again, but here you are,” she said approvingly. Looking at their clasped hands, wearing their wedding rings, Dr. MacLeod nodded. “I’m glad to see things have… resolved with you.” Suddenly all business, she pulled the imaging machine closer and placed Isobel’s feet in the stirrups, giving her a thorough examination. “Now then,” she said, putting some warmed gel on the probe, “shall we see how the wee one is?”

Thomas leaned in, his sharp eyes following the pattern of the probe as it trailed across Isobel’s belly. Dr. MacLeod was muttering a little, taking measurements and a few notes. “Ah.” She said suddenly, pressing the probe in a bit harder, making the girl wince. “See there?” They both followed her finger on the screen.

“Is that…” Thomas’s throat went dry. “Would that be…”

“We’re having twins?” Isobel gasped, instantly bursting into happy tears. “Sorry,” she apologized as Thomas passed her a tissue, “I- I just-” He leaned down and kissed her fiercely.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “thank you for our children.” He frowned as Isobel yelped, the doctor was pressing down rather hard on the right side of her abdomen.

“Sorry,” Dr. MacLeod said absently, moving the probe again, “I’m just trying to… ah.” Her hand stilled and both parent looked up, wide-eyed. “This one was tucked behind her brother.” Turning the screen to them, she pointed at the vibrating little form.

“We’re having- heh- we’re having triplets?” Thomas asked hoarsely. Dr. MacLeod actually grinned, watching the look of utter stupefaction on the countenance of Thomas Williams, the terrifying (former) crime lord of London.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making a stab at trying to be more active on Tumblr, so stop by and say hi. Please let me know who you are if your Tumblr and AO3 names are different. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fraserville
> 
> I'm hoping it's clear there will be a sequel to "My Lovely Doll," because triplets and being the former Crime Lord of London means nothing ever runs smoothly. But Thomas, Isobel and their attending retinue of friends, family and enemies continues into Chapter 38, and then another story. I hope you'll stick around to see them handle the whole weirdness.
> 
> In the meantime, I'm finishing the final (sorry!) past due chapter of "SO Not Going To Happen," along with continuing with Loki and Pandora in "You're Definitely Trouble," and the sensual creepiness of Robert and Angelica in "You Belong To Me, Now." I truly appreciate your support, your brilliant insight and wonderfully clever comments. You give me such joy, and I hope my stories give you even half as much in return.


	38. Do You Think We Deserve A Happy Ending?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is such a thing as a happy ending for Thomas and Isobel. An opened-ended happy ending, but a happy one all the same.
> 
> My very dear Softness, so generous with her wonderful comments here- wrote this: "But seriously, I have this little scene in my head where they re-do the whole wedding thing with their actual family, you know, maybe in the beautiful Scotland. Isobel in white with flowers in her hair, Tom recovered but eyes stinging with emotion, Simja pretending something got in her eye and Ari and Mary Margaret and her kick ass husband oh my god I'll die."
> 
> Happy Birthday, Softness, and thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... wow! I'm humbled by your support and the new friends who made their way into our community of smart, interesting women here with this story. When I finished chapter 37, I couldn't help but feel these two have been through enough to deserve a sweeter finish. Even though it's flawed. Because life is like that.

Do you think we deserve a happy ending?" Isobel asked suddenly.

Simja looked up irritably, her mouth full of straight pins, which had filled Isobel with a crippling anxiety that her friend would swallow at the wrong time and end up with a throat that looked like a cheese grater. "What do you mean, precisely?" She went back to pinning Isobel's dress, trying to even out the seams they'd had to rip loose to make room for the girl's expanded bustline. 

Isobel sighed, trying to keep from moving too much. She knew Simja was one straight pin away from jabbing her in the ass. “This is… it’s all too perfect. This can’t be right.”

“You think after all you have been through-” Simja began, but Isobel cut her off.

“-after all the things I’ve done, you mean.” Her tone was uncharacteristically bitter, and her friend frowned.

After a moment, the Israeli returned to basting the gown. “Did you enjoy killing those people?”

“No.”

“Would you have done it if there had been any other way to save your family?” Her fingers were busy tucking the last bit of fabric back into line.

“No, of course not.” Isobel rubbed her eyes. “What will our children think of us when they get older? What if they find out about our past? I want… I need to raise good children, ethical ones. How can I expect that after everything I’ve done?”

Sitting back on her heels, Sinja eyed the finished job on the pretty gown and nodded. “I have killed.” She offered suddenly.

“The man who took Thomas’s place,” Isobel said, “but not really because Vantablack actually-”

“No.” Simja said, “No. There were… times when I was in the air force in Israel. Eight. I remember them all.”

Isobel was silent, watching her friend. Simja never gave up any information about her past, she was nearly as stubborn as Thomas had been.

“Then,” she straightened Isobel’s gown, eyeing it critically, “there were three more as I rose in the Corporation.” Shockingly, Simja chuckled. “Did you know I was actually an Israeli operative?”

The blood drained from Isobel’s face. _“What?”_

“Hmmm,” nodded the woman, standing and stretching gratefully. “Israeli agents were planted into the Corporation six years ago. Our intelligence knew about the chemical weapons, they were concerned they could be used on our country.” Simja looked at the stunned girl and put a finger under Isobel’s chin, shutting her gaping mouth with a snap. Putting the sewing materials away, she looked out the huge window, staring at the oceanside. “About a year in, the contact I reported to no longer answered my calls. I found later that he had been reassigned.” Simja chuckled mirthlessly. “The operation was declared as waste of money when it seemed clear the Corporation’s interests did not impact Israel. They dropped it, but never notified us. We were so deep cover that everyone forgot about us.” She turned, leaning against the windowsill and watching Isobel’s shocked face. “I know there were three of us planted into the Corporation ranks, but I do not know who the other two were. I am assuming they are dead. The point is, my country forgot about me. The ground we stand on is like sand, my friend. What you think is right and just sometimes… shifts. In the end, what matters is protecting those you love. It is all that matters.”

It was possibly the longest speech Simja had ever given to Isobel, and it took the girl a moment to respond.

"D-does Thomas know?"

"Yes," the woman answered calmly. "He called me into his office just after I found that I'd been abandoned at the Corporation. He offered me a new cause. He wanted to make sure he had assistance ridding the Corporation of all chemical weapons. I am an excellent spy." Simja eyed Isobel, who was shaking her head slowly, back and forth. "Then he sent you to me. He told me to make you strong. That you would need it." Suddenly, the stern Israeli smiled and cupped Isobel's cheek. "And you are strong, my dear. As strong as you've had to be."

 

“What’s going through that devious mind of yours, brother?” Mary Margaret strolled into the study, eyeing Thomas as he stared at out the ocean.

He grunted irritably, but his sister merely scoffed at the terrifying former Crime Lord of London, as she insisted on calling Thomas- in private, of course.

“Come on, cheer up! You’re getting re-married to the love of your life and mother of your three children. A woman far too beautiful and kind for you!” She’d meant to simply tease him, but Mary Margaret was startled when Thomas turned to her, a look of misery on his face.

“That’s just it. Isobel is too good for me, too kind.” His lovely, sonorous voice was brittle, as if the words were strangled in his throat.

His sister frowned, staring at him as she pilfered some of his excellent scotch. “You’re just now coming to this conclusion, Thomas?”

“I… I bought her, you know.” He said suddenly, the words somehow flying out of his mouth and shocking even him. “I paid her parents millions of pounds and they just… gave her to me. She never had a choice. Not ever.”

Mary Margaret was silent for a moment, trying to digest the bizarre confession. It made sense- everything added up- the sweet, unspoiled girl, her cold brother’s utter focus on Isobel, a naive creature utterly unlike anyone he would have used before. “That’s not true,” she finally answered, “she made her choice when she said yes to you when you asked her to marry you. Isobel said yes again when she pressed that button.” Thomas’s dark head whipped around to look at her and Mary Margaret rolled those beautiful azure eyes, so like her older brother’s. “Really? A massive explosion that took out the entire power structure of three criminal organizations in one tidy bundle? How stupid do you think I am?”

For the first time since they were children, Mary Margaret enjoyed her brother’s look of shock.  “I don’t believe you are stupid at all, you horrible girl. Just stubborn.” Thomas confessed.

“Is this going to be another lecture about how I should have been a doctor and you would have paid for it all with your blood money if I just wasn’t so damned superior?” Mary Margaret cut in, knowing they were about to slip into an old groove of discontent, like a deep scratch on a DVD. “As it happens, brother, I have saved up enough to pay for it myself. I was accepted into Stanford University’s medical school in California. I start this fall.” She reveled in Thomas’s look of shock. It had been so long since she’d seen anything but cold and utter containment on her brother’s face.

“What about Matthew and your engagement?” Thomas finally asked, still processing his grinning sibling’s announcement.

Mary Margaret shrugged, “He was willing to do a long-distance relationship, but he changed his mind and accepted a position at the Packard Children’s Hospital on campus.”

Thomas shook his head, suddenly grinning. “Why, you cunning little expatriate,” he said fondly, “we’ll be on the same coast after all.”

Looking out at the waves slipping gently against the beachfront of Thomas and Isobel’s Vancouver home, Mary Margaret smiled. “It would be a shame to break up such a brilliant partnership, now that you’ve left off the murder and mayhem.”

The tall, forbidding man next to her suddenly burst into laughter, catching Mary Margaret in a warm hug. “You are absolutely correct, sister mine.”

 

"Are you ready?"

Isobel turned from the window to see her future brother in law, slouching against the door. "Matthew, you look exhausted!"

He rolled his eyes and straightened up, coming over to offer his arm. "Your... enthusiastic offspring have kept me awake for two straight nights," Matthew answered sourly. "And since you and Thomas are about to leave for your short but well-deserved honeymoon, I suspect I won't be getting any sleep for the next two nights as well."

Isobel was instantly contrite. "I'm so sorry!  I didn't realize they were being so loud! They still like a feeding in the middle of the night every now and then. i guess the excitement of having Uncle Matthew and Auntie Mary Margaret has kept them awake."

Guiding her out of the room, the surgeon scowled at Isobel. "Don't be trying your innocent charm with me, missy. I know the mendaciousness of a fellow Scot when I see it." Her innocent facade broke as Isobel burst into laughter, still letting Matthew lead her to the expansive french doors that opened to the beach. 

“I am sorry, brother,” Isobel confessed, “it’s not like the vacation you anticipated, eh?”

“Please,” snorted the tall ginger, “nothing about this family is what I anticipated.” Hearing the faint strains of music begin to play, Matthew smiled down at a suddenly wide-eyed Isobel. “Are you ready, my dear?” He was reassured by the look of utter serenity that transformed her lovely face.

“For anything, Matthew. I’m ready for anything and everything.”

 

It was a rare sunny day in Vancouver, British Columbia as the former Crime Lord of London stood next to his best mate- his sister, as Isobel was drawn down the beach on the arm of his soon-to-be brother in law. Feeling an alien moisture in his eyes, Thomas rubbed at them, not realizing for a moment that he was crying. Just a bit. His girl was a vision- her lovely breasts still full with milk, glowing skin set off by a flowing chiffon dress and a simple circlet of flowers in her hair. Isobel was smiling, just for him as if he was still her moon and stars.

It was a beautiful ceremony, even if the only witnesses were the string quartet, the beaming minister and three 18 month old toddlers, who insisted on cooing and squawking their approval as Simja and an exhausted Ari efficiently wrangled them into a relatively contained circle around their parents.

The vows were simple as Mr. and Mrs. Pine renewed their promise to love and cherish each other. Thomas slid his father’s battered ring- resized for his wife’s slim digits- back on to her finger as she did the same with a simple platinum band for him. Gathering up their children, they repeated the vows, and then again as they encircled the rest of their family.

   
"I still feel guilty!" Isobel fretted as they walked into a cottage on Pier's Island, just a short flight away on the British Columbia coast. "I pumped all that milk, but what if they run out? What if-"

Thomas stopped the anxious flow of words with a deep kiss, running his unfairly agile tongue along her lips. Their three children were born two months early- not surprising for multiples, but he was humbled by Isobel's fierce determination to make sure that Matthew- named for his father, Bronwyn and William had everything needed to catch up on those missed developmental months. If he had been required to be completely honest- which Thomas avoided doing at all costs- he would have had to admit how much he enjoyed his beautiful doll's wonderfully swollen breasts. They were delightfully sensitive, full and overflowed his large palm when he toyed with them. And as much as Thomas enjoyed the personal rewards of his wife's pregnancy and motherhood, nothing compared to the sheer beauty of watching her sit cross-legged on a lounge on their deck, humming (off-key, but humming) to one baby or another as they blissfully fed at her breast. It was more than he deserved, Thomas knew. So much more. Returning to the present, he looked fondly at his wife's upturned face. "Perhaps, my darling, you need a distraction?"

Enjoying her rapturous little shudder, he groaned when she whispered, "Watcha waiting for, Tommy?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few clarifications:
> 
> First: Simja's government forgetting about her is not far-fetched. When the Soviet Union collapsed, there were hundreds of operatives around the world who suddenly didn't find anyone at the other end of the line any more. Their massive intelligence system was dismantled, and due to confusion, lack of money, deep placement- these agents were never recovered. Some ended up turning for the country they were in, others just kept... working, not knowing what else to do.
> 
> Second: I am an absolute moron. I went back through this story about a week ago and I was appalled at all the mistakes. Apparently, wine and writing fan fiction don't go together as well as I thought. There were Mary Margarets (my initial intention for Thomas's sister) then Mary Elizabeths and even some Mary Catherines. Good Lord! Then, apparently I forgot Simja's name for a couple of chapters and called her Magda. *buries head in hands* If you are confused by Thomas's surname changing from Williams to Pine, it is because they obviously changed identities after the bombing. First names changed as well, but it's too confusing to do here. But I should have perhaps explained the change to Pine more explicitly in the story. I'll fix that. I'm sorry!
> 
> Third: One reader suggested that nursing children at 18 months was "ridiculous." I'm a mom of multiples, and I nursed for nearly 2 years. The myelin sheath isn't fully formed over the nervous system till around 24 months. Infants who arrive prematurely benefit hugely from a longer period of breast milk. This isn't a debate on breast vs. formula or anything else. But many moms do it. It doesn't make any other choice better or worse, I just thought it would fit for who Isobel is.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you again for your support with "My Lovely Doll!" If you've not read my other "Jaguar Villains" story "Not Going To Happen," you might enjoy it. I'm heading over to work on "You're Definitely Trouble" and "You Belong To Me, Now" while Thomas and Isobel enjoy their little honeymoon. But they will be back.


End file.
